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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22985794">The Games We Play</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCabinets/pseuds/CaptainCabinets'>CaptainCabinets</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Lots of plot), (Slower than I intended lol), (They don’t cheat on each other), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Author plays a lot of board games, Cheating, F/M, Guilt &amp; Shame, Infidelity, Loosely based on that unaired SNL skit, Mechanic Rey, Porn With Plot, Professor Ben, Slow Burn, The one that got away type shit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:41:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>66,625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22985794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCabinets/pseuds/CaptainCabinets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you regret it?” she asks. His hand pauses on the doorknob. He whips his head back to her, brows slightly knit—a question there. “Do you regret walking away that night?”</p><p>She needs to know. She needs to know so, so badly. Because she's been so full of regrets and guilt since they’ve met again. And it might be stupid and naive and dangerous, but she can't help but long for all the "what ifs" she’s conjured in her mind. It's been driving her mental.</p><p>“No,” he finally answers.</p><p>Her heart finds a new home in the bottom of her stomach. </p><p>"But," he starts, then pauses for an agonizing moment, "I do regret not finding you sooner.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ijustfellintothissendhelp</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Trivial Pursuit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please read the endnotes for warnings/details :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s her eighteenth birthday and she’s getting completely and utterly pissed at The Takodana Pub in Oxford.</p><p> </p><p>This is much to her friends’ detriment, as they are in the middle of a<em> very</em> competitive pub quiz, and Rey is being…less than helpful.</p><p> </p><p>She’s participating, to be sure, and providing many a correct answer. But she being <em>loud. </em>And a bit belligerent. She is having far too much fun harassing the other teams full of posh upper-class university students.</p><p> </p><p>If Finn wasn’t practically raised by the owner, Maz, their whole team, The Resistance, would’ve been thrown out ages ago.</p><p> </p><p>There is one team in particular—The First Order, they call themselves—that Rey absolutely cannot help but harass. A bunch of rich Oxbridge students, no doubt.</p><p> </p><p>They all sit in the corner, sipping on expensive-looking drinks and sitting so straight she would’ve guessed they all had rods stuck up their bumholes. She tells them as much. And when his team gets an answer wrong she likes to pointedly look over at them, raise her glass, and does a little wink before she takes a swig of whatever is in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>They all just roll their eyes at her.</p><p> </p><p>Well, three out of four of them do.</p><p> </p><p>The big, dark-haired American just stares. He's irritated, for sure, but he doesn't seem to be irritated with <em>her. </em>No matter what she does. She even breaks the others, despite their impressive composure for the first hour and a half of the quiz. The short dark-haired one looks on the verge of tears<span class="Apple-converted-space">. The ginger one starts to throw some very weak comebacks her way. And the blonde one starts flashing vaguely threatening hand gestures. </span></p><p> </p><p>But no, the American doesn’t resort to any petty tactics. When her team gets something right he only sends a curious little look her way—one she wouldn’t dare describe as a smile, but something close to it. It makes her head spin. Or that could be the alcohol. </p><p> </p><p>He seems impressed with them. With her. His eyes are dark and intense and she likes the way they look when they are looking at her. So she does everything she can to get his attention and <em>keep </em>it.</p><p> </p><p>The First Order and The Resistance tie at the end of it all. Maz calls for a one-on-one speed round to finish it all off. It was now down to whoever answers the most questions within two minutes.</p><p> </p><p>The First Order elects Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.</p><p> </p><p>And The Resistance elects Rose—as they absolutely should have. She’s the smartest out of the four of them, and has done most of the leg work up until this point. But Rey begs and pleads and then pulls the birthday card, and so she gets to go head-to-head with the American.</p><p> </p><p>She hears Maz ask his name, and when he says Ben in that deep sultry voice of his, her brain conjures an image of her on top of him moaning that name over and over and over...She gets a little horny when she’s drunk.</p><p> </p><p>When Maz asks for her name—for formality's sake—Rey addresses him instead of her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Rey,” she says, holding her hand out to him. When he shakes it, her lizard brain takes note of the size of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>She takes the opportunity to stare at him up-close. He’s definitely older than her. She'd guess mid-twenties. Maybe even late twenties. She decides she likes his face, though. It’s long and sharp and unusual. She’s always had a thing for interesting looking people. Her crush growing up was Freddie Mercury, despite him being dead before she was ever born.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s my birthday,” she tells him as they take their seats in front of their buzzers at the bar.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” He says, not looking at her, but there’s a slight smirk on his face. “And?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>And </em>I think that means you should let me win,” she slurs her words a little.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the fun in that?” He scoffs, and spares a glance her way. His mouth isn’t smiling, but his eyes are. “Winning is only fun when you earn it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah,” she waves her hand dismissively. “Winning is winning.”</p><p> </p><p>Maz pops up in front of them, question cards and timer in-hand. “Shut up you two, and place your hands over your buzzers.”</p><p> </p><p>They both follow her directions, and Maz hits the timer without warning, and the quiz starts.</p><p> </p><p>“In what Shakespeare play will you find the character Puck?”</p><p> </p><p>Buzz. <em>“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”</em></p><p> </p><p><em>Damn it, </em>she swears in her head. The point goes to the First Order.</p><p> </p><p>“What figurehead is thought to be the person to start the white wedding dress trend?”</p><p> </p><p>Buzz. “Queen Victoria!”</p><p> </p><p>The point goes to The Resistance, and she’d love to look at him smugly, but there’s no time.</p><p> </p><p>“Name the capital of Belarus!”</p><p> </p><p>Buzz. “Minsk.”</p><p> </p><p>How the fuck does he know that? Point First Order.</p><p> </p><p>“Who played Esther Blodgett in the 1954 version of <em>A Star is Born?”</em></p><p> </p><p>Buzz. “Judy Garland!”</p><p> </p><p>Point Resistance.</p><p> </p><p>“What is the name of the English comedy duo comprised of Barry and Paul Elliot?”</p><p> </p><p>Buzz. “The Chuckle Brothers!”</p><p> </p><p>Point Resistance, again.</p><p> </p><p>They go back and forth until the timer reaches 15 seconds. She has one singular point on him. She just has to get this one right.</p><p> </p><p>“Which famous battle was the turning point for the American Revolution?” Maz asks, and Rey has to suppress the urge to curse.</p><p> </p><p>She’s stumped. She doesn’t know<em> shit</em> about American history. She cringes, waiting for Ben to buzz in, and for his big booming voice to answer correctly and tie them back up again.</p><p> </p><p>But he doesn’t put his hand on the buzzer. He doesn’t say anything. The time runs out. And Rey has won it all for her team—<em>despite</em> being drunker than she’s ever been, and lacking in any sort of higher education.</p><p> </p><p>And it feels good, but it doesn’t feel <em>that </em>good. Because she knows from watching him all night that he is good at history questions. He was the first to open his big mouth after each question during the world history round. That was more of Rose’s specialty, so Rey kept her eyes on him for practically the whole round.</p><p> </p><p>But he did it. He threw the game for her.</p><p> </p><p>And he was right. This would probably feel so much better if she had earned it.</p><p> </p><p>She tries to get his attention—she wants to thank him, or even ask him why he did it—but Rose, Finn, and Paige run up and hug her. They’re all slobbering drunk at this point as well. They all hang off her, patting her on the back. They all whoop and cheer and buy another round. In all the chaos she loses sight of her opponent.</p><p> </p><p>She searches the pub and sees no sign of him. Or any of his teammates.</p><p> </p><p>She tells her friends she’ll be right back. She needs some fresh air. She disappears outside and sees two members of the First Order. The big blonde one smoking with the redhead. Rey asks where Ben went and the blonde  waves her free hand dismissively towards St. Mary’s, and Rey just <em>runs. </em>She speeds down the tight alley and practically leaps across a very empty High Street.</p><p> </p><p>She keeps going until she sees a big man with dark hair. Her footsteps echo, and that big man turns to see who is making all that noise. When she finally reaches him, she’s completely out of breath. She doubles over, hands on knees, and takes a second to compose herself.</p><p> </p><p>They’re outside the Bodleian, near the gates of the Radcliffe Camera. It’s dark and dimly lit—the faded yellow light emanating through the school windows the only thing illuminating their path. The University buildings surrounding them maybe look a bit creepy, but they’re still so beautiful. She’d gone here on a trip when she was in primary school and fell in love with it. She had wanted to come here to get her degree...all the way up until her grandfather told her she <em>had</em> to.</p><p> </p><p>Still, though, this remains one of her favorite places in the world. And she thinks it looks more beautiful with him standing here like a Roman statue.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you let me win?” she finally asks, still a bit breathless.</p><p> </p><p>“What makes you think that?” he counters, with a smirk on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Well it was an American history question. You’re American.”</p><p> </p><p>“And so that<em> must</em> mean I know everything about American history, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. But you knew all the other history questions.”</p><p> </p><p>“I had the help of my team.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but you didn’t need it.”</p><p> </p><p>A pause. A sly smile.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I didn’t,” he confirms.</p><p> </p><p>“So?”</p><p> </p><p>“So, what?”</p><p> </p><p>“You let me win.” It’s a statement now. An immovable fact.</p><p> </p><p>He gazes down at her, a little amused, a little tired. There are dark circles under his eyes, though, and she absently wonders how much sleep he gets.</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday, Rey,” he finally says, and turns away from her.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait!” She panics and grabs his arm to spin him back towards her.</p><p> </p><p>Then, without another thought, she clasps his face in between her hands, and pulls him down to her. She aims for his lips. And maybe if she weren’t so full of tequila shots and lager (a combination that is<em> surely </em>going to come back and bite her in the ass in the morning) she would have hit her mark. But she just ends up kissing the space between his nose, and the left corner of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>When she pulls back, he’s smiling. Toothy, goofy, and sweet. He laughs a little. And if it weren’t so dark she’d be able to see the blush that’s spread across his face and ears. He covers her hands in his, and slowly, gently pulls them from his face.</p><p> </p><p>He lets the left one drop. But the right one—he pulls her right hand to his face and kisses it, like some kind of Byronic hero in a goddamn Austen novel or something.</p><p> </p><p>Then he lets that hand go, too.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> And h</span>e nods at her, quick and curt. There’s a sense of finality to it all which breaks her heart a little. It might’ve broken her heart a lot, were she sober.</p><p> </p><p>Then he walks away from her. She stares at his broad back until he completely disappears into the darkness, like a ghost. And then she goes back to the pub and drinks well into the morning.</p><p> </p><p>She falls asleep on the train back to London, with a splitting headache and pair of ruined trainers as her only souvenirs from her night.</p><p> </p><p>Still, though, she thinks that that was the best birthday she’s ever had.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Rey and Finn travel from their shitty flat in Croydon back to Oxford a few more times that year. Mostly to visit Maz, but also to participate in a few more pub quizzes—at Rey’s request.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t see <em>him </em>again.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s for the best. Because she thinks if she ever saw him again she’d easily fall in love with him. And he could ruin her life. And she would let him. And she'd be just like her mother.</p><p> </p><p>So she places him in a special little place in her memory and moves on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few things:</p><p>1) This is a fic in which Rey and Ben end up cheating on their spouses with each other. They are flawed people who are doing a bad thing, and that won't be glossed over. I understand that many people don't like when there is cheating or infidelity in fics. If you are one of those people, I'm going to gently suggest you don't continue reading. If you are not one of those people...well, I hope you enjoy :)</p><p>2) This is very loosely based on that unaired SNL skit wherein some couples were playing board games, two of the players were way more into it than the others, and they ended up going at it in front of their spouses (this is probably a mildly inaccurate description...someone who went to the taping talked about it on tumblr or twitter, I'll link the source if I can find it).</p><p>3) There will be some Rey/Poe and Ben/Kaydel. As is the nature of a fic like this. There won't be any cucking, threesomes, foursomes etc. Sorry if that's what you're into!</p><p>4) Potential spoilers: There will be a happy ending. I’m a big believer in happy endings. But they’re going to have to work for it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Guess Who?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She’s twenty and it’s a sweltering summer in England.</p><p> </p><p>Finn and Rose have invited her out on a double date with some guy from Rose’s base at Lakenheath. Another American. A pilot for the United States Air Force.</p><p> </p><p>This isn’t the first time her friends have tried to set her up with someone. Rose works with a lot of men at the base. And Finn has a ton of male classmates at university. It seems like every week they come to her with a new “perfect” man, but every one of them has been a pervert or a dud. </p><p> </p><p>They swear this one is different, though.</p><p> </p><p>And…he is.</p><p> </p><p>For starters, his name is Poe Dameron, which is not a name one hears everyday. She wants to rag on it, but they’ve set her up so so many Ryans, Daves, and Chads that she thinks a Poe is a refreshing change of pace.</p><p> </p><p>The minute they meet she takes the piss out of the leather jacket he’s wearing, because it’s completely impractical in this weather, and he must be sweating his dick off. And he takes it on the chin, and rags on her for the small hole in the armpit of her Blur teeshirt. He then goes on to spout off an impressive amount of knowledge on 90’s Britpop, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her a <em>little</em> wet.</p><p> </p><p>He does get a little sensitive when she tells him that he <em>must </em>come from money after he pays for everyone’s meal like it’s nothing. Finn later confirms he <em>does, </em>but he only has it because his parents died when he was young and left him a solid chunk of change.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s older—quite a bit older, actually. Nearly twelve years her senior, though she wouldn’t have guessed it looking at him. He’s got a handsome face, and dark curly hair. A butt to die for. She never thought she was a butt girl, but his butt is really something special. And he’s good in bed, which she learns quicker than she intended to, but she can’t resist after he makes her the best burger she's ever had in her life.</p><p> </p><p>There’s something about him that is so magnetic. And charming. And normally she’d be suspicious of someone like that but he makes her feel something. Excitement. Adventure. And she just gets sucked right into his vortex.</p><p> </p><p>She spends the rest of the summer at his side. And he’s her date to Finn and Rose’s wedding that fall. He even spends Christmas with her after Rose gets stationed in the Philippines, taking her best friend across the world. The holidays are always hard for her, but he made sure she wasn't alone.</p><p> </p><p>He’s a good man. They don’t have much in common, but she kind of likes that. She knows she can trust him, and that's what's important. She’s grateful to have him around.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Poe is leaving.</p><p> </p><p>He’s going back to the States—got stationed somewhere in Arizona.</p><p> </p><p>And he asks her to marry him.</p><p> </p><p>She says she has to think about it, though she’s initially pretty sure she’s going to tell him no.</p><p> </p><p>They’ve been dating less than a year. She’s not sure she really even knows him all that well. And she definitely knows he doesn’t know <em>her</em> that well.</p><p> </p><p>She's told him she loves him, but really only because he said it first, and she didn’t want to make things awkward. She likes him. A lot. And he’s been incredible company since Rose and Finn left. But love is a word she tries not to use lightly, and it still feels a little wrong when she says it to him.</p><p> </p><p>But marriage? She’s never even had a<em> proper </em>boyfriend before him. She doesn’t know how to be a good girlfriend, much less a good<em> wife.</em> Especially a military wife, when she isn’t even sure how she feels about the military in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>And she’s <em>young.</em> She’s so young. Only twenty-one. He’s thirty-three, so of course he’d be ready for this kind of commitment. But there is so much more that she wants to do. She wants to travel alone and go to school and kiss random strangers in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about <em>him</em>, then. Ben from Oxford. Ben the American. Ben who let her win in a pub quiz on her eighteenth birthday.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know why. She hasn’t thought about him in a while.</p><p> </p><p>But she wonders what he’s doing with his life. She wonders if he’s married by now. Has a kid or two. If he ever thinks about her like she does him sometimes. She kind of hopes he does.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">The thought of him sobers her a little. But for some reason, it helps her make up her mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>The next morning she meets Poe at the base for breakfast. She tells him that yes, she’ll marry him. Yes, she’ll go to America with him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Yes, she'll give up her life for him.</span></p><p> </p><p>He’s elated.</p><p> </p><p>And she can’t pretend like the prospect doesn’t excite her <em>a little</em>. She’s never been to the States. She’s never even left the United Kingdom. She tried once when she was sixteen. She and Finn were playing hooky from school, and bought tickets for the Eurostar to Paris. But her grandfather found her, like he always managed to do, and dragged her back home.</p><p> </p><p>Marrying Poe will be good. Moving to the U.S. will be good.</p><p> </p><p>She can finally leave her cursed name behind and become someone new.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She’s twenty-three and living in Arizona.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t hate the weather, even though it makes her skin dry and brings out the freckles she’s always hated. It’s a nice change from dreary old England.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t hate their little house. It reminds her a bit of the one she grew up in with her mother.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t hate the trade school she goes to to become a automotive mechanic.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> She's always had a thing for cars. Especially the classic ones. It was one thing that her grandfather passed onto her that she didn't completely resent. And she worked in a shop back in London for a while, and though she was just as a secretary, she picked up a lot. So when Poe offers to pay for her to go to school, it's the first thing she thinks of.</span></p><p> </p><p>What she<em> does</em> hate is that she’s forced to interact with all the other young wives living on base.</p><p> </p><p>She’s never missed Rose and Finn more.</p><p> </p><p>She’s older than many of them, which is one of the most jarring realizations she’s had to contend with. She can’t help but feel that these women have no sense of what real life is like. They don’t <em>really </em>know what hardship is. They live in a bubble. This base is a bubble. One full of blind Christianity, overzealous patriotism, and multi-level marketing schemes.</p><p> </p><p>Rey swears to <em>God</em> if another one of these twats invites her to a party to buy some shitty leggings she might just wrap that geometric-patterned neon cheap fabric around their neck and <em>squeeze.</em></p><p> </p><p>The thing she can’t stand most about them is that they all <em>say </em>they are madly in love with their husbands. Their families are their "number one priority." They flood their social media accounts with proof of their love. They say they’d do anything for them. And yet the ones who say it the most are blatant cheaters.</p><p> </p><p>Their husbands cheat, too. Every night when Poe comes home he tells her stories about what all his underlings get up to when they’re not at work or home.A lot of them have very young kids. And as a kid who came from a very broken home, it breaks her heart to see their carelessness.</p><p> </p><p>Oftentimes, when there’s a barbecue or holiday party, Rey will usually just volunteer to watch the kids instead of interacting with Poe's friends. Her husband mistakes this as some kind of desire for children—which is definitely not the case. Not yet, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>She just wants to talk to them. To make sure they’re okay. To make sure that they know someone cares—something she never got as a kid.</p><p> </p><p>“I hate it here,” she tells Poe after one particularly bad day. “I feel like I’m going completely mental.”</p><p> </p><p>“Two more years,” her husband assures her. “Two more years, and then I’m out for good. We’ll go wherever <em>you</em> want. We’ll be together all the time. We can start our family. It’ll be perfect. Just wait a little longer.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey hates waiting. She’s spent a lot of her life waiting on things—people—that have never come. But she chooses to trust Poe. He is her husband, after all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Poe lives up to his promise.</p><p> </p><p>Sort of.</p><p> </p><p>Two years pass and he <em>is </em>out. But they don’t go where she wants. Not that she would even know where to go. She doesn’t <em>really </em>want to go back to the U.K. There’s not much left for her there since Rose and Finn left. And she certainly doesn’t care to breathe the same air as her grandfather ever again.</p><p> </p><p>So she thinks it’s <em>fine</em> when Poe tells her he got a job offer in New York. Flying commercial for American Airlines though JFK Airport.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a good job. And Poe is enthusiastic about it, so she doesn’t fight him on it. She never really fights him on anything.</p><p> </p><p>She might have, once. She used to love to fight. Got off on it, even. But she’s tired of it now. And Poe always tries his hardest to make sure she’s comfortable. He always makes sure she has everything she needs.</p><p> </p><p>And so they go to New York.</p><p> </p><p>They buy a house in Jamaica Estates because it’s close to the airport and has relatively easy access to Manhattan. Poe insists they’ll be downtown every weekend…when he’s home, that is.</p><p> </p><p>It’s an expensive neighborhood, though, especially for Queens. But Poe grew up in the area and insists he raise his own family there.</p><p> </p><p>The house is a small, three bedroom, Tudor-style ranch, which isn’t normally Rey’s style, but it’s newly renovated, and there’s a lot of space for a city home. And she can’t help but be grateful. Lucky that this is where she ended up. She gets to live in a beautiful house in one of the most amazing cities in the world. So who cares if it’s not what she envisioned for herself? Who cares if she doesn’t even remember the last time she envisioned something for herself in the first place?</p><p> </p><p>They settle in. They get to know their neighbors. Rey gets to know Poe’s childhood friends and the family he has left. She’s particularly fond of Luke and Leia, who practically raised him after his parents died. They're both rich but not in a tacky way. And she loves Chewy, too. Especially after he offers her a job at his garage, which is conveniently very near their house.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Despite being married, and graduating from school, and working a solid job back in Arizona, Rey hasn't felt like her life has really started yet. There's a longing in her gut that she can't explain. A want for something she can't name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="Apple-converted-space">But <em>this</em></span> f<span class="Apple-converted-space">eels like a start.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s Christmas Eve, and they’re going to Leia’s for a holiday party.</p><p> </p><p>Rey is dressed in an emerald green sweater with a big snowflake and little pom poms dotted across the front. Poe teases her about it, but she knows Leia will appreciate it. The older woman insisted this was just a casual night with a some close friends and family. No need to be formal. Poe still dresses in a white button down and brown dress pants.</p><p> </p><p>They Uber to Leia’s massive three-story brownstone in Cobble Hill.  She knows Leia comes from money—and a lot of it—but it's never more evident than when they visit her house. It's all vaulted ceilings and marble and mahogany. Rey’s been here a few times, but her breath is still taken away when she sees the grandeur of it. </p><p> </p><p>They ring the bell, but no one answers. Poe pushes the door open and they run into awall of people. The brownstone is packed. Packed with very important-looking, finely-dressed people. Rey is suddenly very much regretting her outfit choice, and pulls her puffy jacket tightly around her.</p><p> </p><p>After a minute of standing around in confusion, they spot Leia’s tiny form weeding through the crowd in their direction. Rey is relieved to see the hostess wearing a similarly gaudy red Santa sweater. She gives them frantic hugs and then launches into a story about how out-of-control her guest list got, and some mistake her caterers made, and the shock of her son showing up for once. She makes them remove their jackets, and hands them off to her housekeeper, who Rey swears Leia must've conjured out of thin air.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey, dear! Your sweater! I love it!” Leia cackles, as Rey hands over her jacket. And then Leia disappears as quickly as she came.</p><p> </p><p>Poe and Rey give each other a <em>look, </em>and make their way further into the house to find some drinks.</p><p> </p><p>Practically every seat is taken, so they take to standing near the wall near the fireplace. They chat a little, but Rey notices Poe glancing around the room every so often, clearly distracted. Searching.</p><p> </p><p>“You looking for someone?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, my next wife. I’m thinking about that red head over there with the baby bangs,” he jokes.</p><p> </p><p>“Hah hah. No, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“Leia’s son.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?”</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t seen him in years. We were friends as kids. Didn’t really talk after I went into the Air Force. From what Leia told me, he didn’t really talk to <em>anyone</em> after he went to college. Cut himself off from the family. I know he made up with them after his dad’s death, though. I’m just interested to what he’s like now.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s he look like?” Rey asks, scanning the room herself.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, I don’t really know anymore. Last I saw him he was a skinny thing with big ears and a big nose.”</p><p> </p><p>“Big ears. Big nose. Got it.”</p><p> </p><p>The two continue searching the room. Rey spots a short man with a big nose who she thinks maybe looks a <em>little</em> like Leia. When she turns to ask Poe to get confirmation, her husband is nowhere to be found.</p><p> </p><p>She spots his dark curls wading through the living room towards the kitchen. But then he stops to hug a blonde woman and shake the hand of a dark-haired man who is sitting with his back to her. That must be Leia’s son.</p><p> </p><p>Rey weaves through the crowd after him, desperately trying not to spill her precious champagne on the journey.</p><p> </p><p>When she reaches the group, Poe's eyes flit to her and widen as if he forgot she was even here.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Rey!" He screeches, moving over towards her. "This is my wife! Rey, this is Kaydel Solo.”</p><p> </p><p>The pretty blonde steps forward to shake Rey’s hand and exchange polite “hellos” and “merry Christmases.”</p><p> </p><p>“And this is Leia’s son, Ben,” Poe moves her closer to the man in the chair. Then Leia’s son stands and turns to fully face her, and the room stands still for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>She recognizes him instantly. His long face, strong nose, full lips, and dark, silky hair are all exactly the same. He hasn’t changed much in the last seven years.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Maybe he got bigger, but in Rey's memory he's always towering over her.</span></p><p> </p><p>She can tell he recognizes her, too. His brown eyes light up, a small smile tugs the corner of his mouth upwards.</p><p> </p><p>“Ben,” he says, holding out his hand.</p><p> </p><p><em>I know,</em> she wants to say. <em>We've met before, remember? </em></p><p> </p><p>But she doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” she says instead, reaching out to accept his hand.</p><p> </p><p>He lets go of her after they shake, but his eyes linger for a little while before he turns to intently listen to Poe.</p><p> </p><p>Rey suddenly feels incredibly hot and suffocated. She downs the rest of her champagne. And for some reason, the only thing that runs through her mind is one little word:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I mean no offense to any military wives in this chapter. </p><p>Full offense to anyone pushing MLMs, though.</p><p>(You can find me on Tumblr @ CaptainCabinetsao3.tumblr.com ❤️)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Scrabble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ben Solo has only had three kisses in his twenty-six years of life.</p><p> </p><p>The first was in fifth grade, with Selena Harries. She came up to him at recess and planted one on him right there on the swings.</p><p> </p><p>He later found out it was a dare.</p><p> </p><p>She got five dollars and a Rice Krispie for kissing him.</p><p> </p><p>That was his first experience with a broken heart.</p><p> </p><p>His second kiss was with Jen Lee at junior prom. They’d been somewhat close friends for a while—sat next to each other all year in biology. They dissected a frog together—it was very romantic.</p><p> </p><p>He had no intention of going to the dance, but she asked him, and his little crush on her just couldn’t refuse. He worked up his courage all night, and placed a quick peck on her lips during a slow dace to Aaliyah’s “Miss You.”</p><p> </p><p>He could tell it made her uncomfortable. Because she immediately froze, extracted herself from his arms, and cut their slow dance short. She ended up leaving with a group of her friends.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> This was his second time experiencing a broken heart.</span></p><p> </p><p>They didn’t really talk to each other after that. She made it a point to only talk to him about class-related stuff, and it made Ben want to crawl in a hole and die. He was grateful to see that she wasn’t in any of his classes the next year. He later found out she was a lesbian and felt bad for even trying anything in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>His third kiss wasn’t until college, during his second year of undergrad at Harvard.</p><p> </p><p>Bazine Netal.</p><p> </p><p>She was blunt and forward and seductive and the complete opposite of him.</p><p> </p><p>He lost his virginity to her, which was both terrifying and relieving at the same time. He didn’t feel ready at the time, and didn’t know if she was the person he wanted to lose it to, but he also felt strange for being nearly twenty and still a virgin. So he did it. <em>They </em>did it. And eventually it felt less…wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Bazine was<em> a lot.</em> She was another one of Dr. Richard Snoke’s proteges. The professor liked to pick out promising students every year, and gather them into a special group. He would mold them. Set them on the right path. He introduced them to new people. He made them the “right” kind of connections. Ben got sucked into his orbit freshman year, and <em>still</em> isn’t out eight years later.</p><p> </p><p>That’s how he has ended up at Oxford, getting a PhD in English Literature that he isn’t even sure he wants. But that’s what Snoke does. He <em>tells </em>you what you want, and why you want it, and then you just end up doing it because he says so.</p><p> </p><p>He<em> told </em>Ben and Bazine they wanted each other. That they’d be good for each other. And so they dated for a few years until one day they both realized that they really didn’t even <em>like</em> each other. They could only stand each other’s company if other people were around.</p><p> </p><p>It was a pretty mutual break-up. Or at least it was until he found out she was cheating on him for a whole year with some guy in her Administrative Law class.</p><p> </p><p>He raged when he found out. Not because he was sad to lose her or because she broke his hear—he wasn’t, and she didn't—but he was fucking embarrassed. And he no longer had any control over his anger—everything he learned in therapy as a kid went out the window in college.</p><p> </p><p>He immediately told Snoke. And then suddenly Bazine was no longer apart of the group. In fact, she dropped out of Harvard entirely. He didn’t hear from her ever again.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t really question it then, but lately he’s been thinking about her, and what <em>really </em>happened after they broke up.</p><p> </p><p>Ben Solo is currently in the middle of his fourth kiss. It’s an unexpected surprise. He’s not even sure this could be considered a kiss, really. The other party doesn’t quite manage to catch his lips, and instead ends up making out with the patch of skin between his nose and top lip.</p><p> </p><p>It makes him laugh. She’s made him laugh all night with her ridiculous insults and witty remarks. There’s an intensity, a passion in her that reminds him of himself. Or at least, how he <em>used </em>to be. He used to have fun at pub quizzes. He used to love playing games. But he hasn’t had time for that since he met Snoke.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t even want to go to the quiz tonight. Wasn’t planning to until Phasma and Hux knocked on his door incessantly until he opened it. They they had to physically drag him—along with a very tired-looking Mitaka—to some hole-in-the-wall pub called Takodana.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t begin to enjoy himself until he sees <em>her. </em></p><p> </p><p>Rey.</p><p> </p><p>He watches her and her team practically all night. He's got a good view of her table. So he doesn't miss her downing pint after pint and singing and laughing with her friends. She's very serious about the quiz, though, and surprisingly very astute—for a drunk person. She does well, and he’s thoroughly impressed.</p><p> </p><p>Their whole group seems to be having a good time. Unlike his own, who are taking this way, way too seriously. He’s a little jealous, really. He doesn't remember what it's like to have fun like that.</p><p> </p><p>It’s her birthday. He’s heard her say it over and over again all night. And maybe that’s why he lets her win. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to kill her spirit. She’s having a fun night. He wants to give her a good memory. And the elated smile on her face after she realizes she’s won, and the love she gets from her friends thereafter, is enough to satisfy him. So he grabs his jacket and heads out.</p><p> </p><p>Though not without being berated by Phasma and Hux first. They follow him out of the bar and bitch at him until he’s too far away from them to hear them.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t care. He walks home feeling good. He had fun tonight. He can’t remember the last time he actually had fun. Even though it’s dark and the city is empty and shaded in black, the world has never felt so colorful. So alive.</p><p> </p><p>And then the girl surprises him once more. By following him. By being bold enough to call him out, and then attempting to kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>She’s beautiful. And vibrant. And young. And<em> drunk.</em> So drunk.</p><p> </p><p>She probably doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s just grateful. This is a kiss of gratitude.</p><p> </p><p>So he pulls her hands off his face, presses his lips gently to her knuckle, and leaves her standing alone in the courtyard.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, walking away from this girl, this random girl, hurts way more than Selena’s prank, or Jen’s slight, or Bazine’s betrayal.</p><p> </p><p>But he has to.</p><p> </p><p>Because if he doesn’t walk away from her, he’ll probably ruin her life. Just like he ruined his own. And he can't believe it's taken this long to realize exactly how much he's ruined his life. And he wonders if he'll ever be able to repair it, or if he's just in way too fucking deep.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders if he could ever be someone Rey from the Takodana Pub could deserve.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Ben Solo is twenty-seven when his father dies.</p><p> </p><p>It’s unexpected.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s the most painful thing he’s ever experienced.</p><p> </p><p>Ben hasn’t talked to him in years.</p><p> </p><p>He tries not to think about their last conversation, during undergrad, where his father begged him to come home. Begged him to get away from Snoke.</p><p> </p><p>Ben called him a fool, among many other things that him cringe to remember.</p><p> </p><p>He tries not to think about the missed call from him last night. He tries not to think about the message that Han left in his inbox. The one where he tells him he loves him. It’s like the man knew he was going to get into a fatal car accident that evening.</p><p> </p><p>But Ben tries not to think about it. <em>Can’t</em> think about it. Because if he does he’ll realize that the last ten years of his life have been a fucking lie. A waste of time. And he doesn’t know how to recover from that.</p><p> </p><p>But he does call his mother for the first time in years.</p><p> </p><p>He never thought he would miss the sound of her harsh, gravelly voice. But as soon as she answers his call, Ben begins to cry.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Ben celebrates his twenty-eighth birthday alone, in England.</p><p> </p><p>He spends it in his empty, bare flat working tirelessly on his dissertation.</p><p> </p><p>He’s almost done. He’s almost reached the goal he’s been working towards for over a decade.</p><p> </p><p>His whole life has been his education. His whole adulthood has been controlled by Snoke. That has only become more evident over the past few years he’s spent at Oxford.</p><p> </p><p>He can pin the exact moment he realized that he wasn’t on the right path. That he no longer felt like himself.</p><p> </p><p>It was the night of the pub quiz.</p><p> </p><p>He goes back to Takodana a few times, when he has time to spare. He can’t attend any more pub quizzes due to his schedule (and also his lack of teammates since Hux and Phasma refuse to participate in anything with him anymore) but he kind of hopes he’ll see her around.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>He’s disappointed, but tries not to dwell on it. Nothing can happen with her, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>After he graduates, he gets offered a position at Oxford, just as Snoke had promised.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks he should be happy about it. It’s what he wanted, right? He’d be one of the youngest professors to ever grace the halls of the school.</p><p> </p><p>But he turns it down.</p><p> </p><p>And he goes home to New York. To his mother.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He swallows his pride and accepts a position at New York University. He invests in a brownstone in Brooklyn. It's a fixer-upper, but he loves projects. He tries to piece his life back together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>He should’ve come home sooner.</p><p> </p><p>He knows that.</p><p> </p><p>And he knows he’ll regret not coming home for the funeral for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p><span class="Apple-converted-space">But he's finally away from Snoke. </span>And this is the best he can do for now. This is the first step towards a new life—one that his father would be proud of.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Ben is twenty-nine when he meets Kaydel Ko Connix.</p><p> </p><p>Well, actually, they met plenty of times as children. Leia insists they used to play together, but she’s five years younger than him, so he doesn’t think that actually happened. He does have a vague memory of a young girl with her blonde hair pulled into two buns, though.</p><p> </p><p>And he definitely remembers her name. Every true New Yorker knows the Connix’s.</p><p> </p><p>She’s a grown woman, now. She's beautiful with sad brown eyes and golden blonde hair. She even still wears the buns on occasion.</p><p> </p><p>She’s got a degree in journalism and works as an editor and contributor for<em> The Resistance, </em>a politics and pop culture magazine that’s been a New York fixture since the 1940's.</p><p> </p><p>At first he dismisses her. He thinks she only got the job she has because her parents own the media company that owns the magazine. Her name has an immeasurable amount of power among the New York elite (though only <em>slightly </em>more than the name Organa). But as he gets to know her, he realizes she’s brilliant. She’s a talented writer, and has an encyclopedic knowledge of pop culture and journalism. She’s interesting and engaging, easy to talk to. Non-judgmental.</p><p> </p><p>She becomes his fifth kiss.</p><p> </p><p>And his second lay.</p><p> </p><p>She has a small place SoHo which she invites him into after their third date. Sex with Kay is much better than it is with Bazine. Probably because he actually likes Kaydel, and she actually likes him—though God only knows why she does. She knows all about his past, and still doesn’t throw it in his face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">They work well together. They're both dedicated to their work—maybe a little bit too much, sometimes. The word "power couple" gets thrown their way a lot. He thinks maybe this one will last. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">At the very least, she hasn't broken his heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She’s the first to propose the idea of getting married. It’s not an actual proposal, but she casually mentions one morning that she’d like to marry him.</p><p> </p><p>And soon.</p><p> </p><p>He already had an inkling of where her mind was at, of course, because they’ve attended nearly a dozen weddings in their nine months of dating. Every time they went to one, no matter how close they are to the couple, she cries. She says how much she loves weddings and socializing and organizing events.</p><p> </p><p>He<em> officially</em> proposes a month after her non-proposal, while they’re vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard.</p><p> </p><p>She’s ecstatic. He proposes with a simple ring made from a seashell he picked up at a local gift shop, and before she can be disappointed, he quickly tells her that she can design her own ring. She’d mentioned something about that, too, so he thought it’d be best not to even attempt to pick one out.</p><p> </p><p>He’s happy to have made her happy. He’s spent so much time making people miserable, so this is a nice change.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks it’s probably time he gets married anyway. He’s almost thirty. And <em>everyone</em> thinks they're a good match. Wether that’s because they are actually compatible, or because of their family names, he’s not sure. Her parents are thrilled. Leia is too, and he's glad she finally has something to brag about with him.</p><p> </p><p>And maybe Kaydel doesn’t make him feel the same kind of excitement that some random English girl did after she drunkenly tried to kiss him. But those moments aren’t practical. They’re rare and fleeting.</p><p> </p><p>He knows he’s not sad with Kaydel. He's content. And wants that feeling to last.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>They get married early the next year. It’s a big wedding, which Ben's not exactly comfortable with, but it’s what Kay wanted.</p><p> </p><p>Married life is not what he expected, but it's definitely not bad.</p><p> </p><p>They're quite different from each other, and that becomes incredibly evident when they start living together. It’s not really a bad thing, though. In fact, he quite enjoys how different she is to him. She can be very silly and unabashedly feminine despite her tough and serious exterior. She doesn’t try to impress anyone or be anything that she’s not.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He admires that about her—wishes he had the confidence to be the same way.</span></p><p> </p><p>Despite their differences, they still have a lot in common. Which isn’t a surprise, considering their similar upbringings. They’re both anal-retentive control freaks, which can sometimes cause them to butt heads, but makes for an orderly house. They both have a strong work ethic, and are probably married more to their jobs than they are each other. She pushes him to attend social events, which certainly makes his mom happy, because she's usually at them, too.</p><p> </p><p>And he knows that Leia being happy would make his dad happy. He tries to consider that aspect in everything he does in his life. Would Han be proud?</p><p> </p><p>He and Kay are both incredibly busy during the week—they both work a lot—but make a concerted effort to talk to each other for an hour at least once everyday. To share their thoughts and just talk. The sex is fairly regular, which he<em> definitely</em> doesn't mind.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Kay works too late and doesn’t come home, though. She keeps her apartment in SoHo because it’s only a block from work and it’s easier to just sleep there on particularly busy nights.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks maybe it should bother him more, but he trusts her. And he does enjoy having the house to himself. It’s easier to get reading done. And grading. And he's got<em> a lot</em> of grading to do.</p><p> </p><p>And he's developed a real affinity for DIY projects. He's always tinkering with something around the house. Leia insists he's turning into his father. Which is something that might have bothered him long ago, but now it just makes him feel warm inside.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p>Ben is thirty-four when he sees <em>her</em> again.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks she’s a mirage at first. Some kind of Christmas-sweater clad oasis in the middle of this desert full of stuffy, suited New York City bureaucrats. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t even going to come tonight. He loves his mother, and their relationship is mostly repaired, but he<em> loathes</em> big social events like this. Luckily so does Luke, who feigned illness to get out of coming—one less person for him to have to worry about tonight. Ben thanks whoever is listening that he doesn't have to deal with him tonight, too. He can only handle so much of<em> this.</em></p><p> </p><p>Leia insisted and insisted that it was going to be a small affair. But he knew better.</p><p> </p><p>She said the same thing every year. He went the first year after he arrived back in the States, and spent the whole night dodging questions from her close friends and  political rivals. It was one of the worst nights of his life, and he swore to never return for another Leia-hosted party unless she promised it was just him and other immediate family.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">But Kay convinced him this year. She's eager to meet some new councilwoman for New York that Leia invited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">So he sets himself up in the corner of the living room and watches as Kay schmoozes with the big names in the room. Her ability to get an interview from anyone at any time has always impressed him. But he's still completely, mind-numbingly bored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>That is until Poe Dameron shows up in front of him. He’s surprised to see him at the party. He just comes right up to them and starts talking about how Ben has finally grown into his odd face (something he's <em>very</em> sick of hearing since returning to New York). </p><p> </p><p>He hasn’t seen Poe since he was a teenager. He knows he went into the military, and has been stationed all over the world for the last nearly twenty years. Leia may have mentioned something about him returning to New York, but Ben doesn’t remember.</p><p> </p><p>He’s just as Ben remembers him. Charming and arrogant. Still annoyingly good-looking at nearly-forty. He almost makes Ben sick. He keeps going on and on about nothing in particular, and Ben is already done with the conversation until Poe spots someone and stops talking. A nice reprieve. </p><p> </p><p>It's his wife, apparently.</p><p> </p><p>He definitely didn't know Dameron got married. </p><p> </p><p>He calls her "Rey," which immediately makes Ben's stomach flip.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks, at first, that there is absolutely no way it could be the same Rey. </p><p> </p><p><em>His</em> Rey is back in England. Probably at University or working some brilliant job. Maybe married to someone who deserves her. There's no way she'd be here, in New York, in his mother's house for a Christmas party. That'd be insane.</p><p> </p><p>But then Ben leaves his chair, and turns to see a true vision in an ugly Christmas sweater. It <em>is</em> her.</p><p> </p><p>She hasn't changed much. She's still all cheekbone and gums. There are some freckles on her face that he doesn't remember, but it was so long ago...</p><p> </p><p>He watches as her face cycles through a million different micro emotions in a mere few seconds. Hesitance. Shock. Awe. And then her face morphs into a smile, big and toothy. He remembers that smile of hers <em>very</em> well.</p><p> </p><p>They both remember each other. That much is clear. But he reaches his hand out and introduces himself anyway.</p><p> </p><p>The touch of her hand sends Ben's body aflame. Sends him back nearly seven years.</p><p> </p><p>And all he can think is <em>oh,</em><em> fuck.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the last chapter of background information, I promise. Just needed to get this all out there before the actual story can start :)</p><p>You can find me @ captaincabinetsao3.tumblr.com</p><p>Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Charades</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Poe is talking.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth is moving. He’s flailing his arms wildly and enthusiastically.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks he must be telling one of those stupid Air Force stories he so loves to tell.</p><p> </p><p>But Rey can’t hear him.</p><p> </p><p>No. The only thing she can hear is the sound of blood rushing in her ears and her own erratic heartbeat.</p><p> </p><p>She tries not to look to her right, where Ben Solo is sitting</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How is this possible?</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>How is </em>he<em> Leia’s son? Poe’s childhood friend? How has he not come up in conversation before?</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What kind of cosmic joke is this?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Someone says her name, drawing her out of her reverie. Rey can’t place the voice at first. She immediately looks to Poe who clocks her confusion and bobs his head towards her right.</p><p> </p><p>She looks over to see Kaydel, Ben’s <em>wife, </em>sitting on the arm of his chair. She’s smiling at her, expectantly. Rey’s missed something here.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, what?” She asks, hoping she doesn’t look a complete tit.</p><p> </p><p>“I was just asking what part of the U.K. you’re from. I noticed a little accent,” Kaydel says.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, yes. I, um, I’m from all over, really. I was born in Birmingham and lived there for a while. I spent my teenage years at a boarding school near Oxford. But I escaped to London when I was seventeen and lived there until…until I met Poe.”</p><p> </p><p>Kaydel nods politely at her little story. Rey chances a quick look at Ben and sees him staring blankly at his bottle of beer, seemingly lost in a reverie of his own.</p><p> </p><p>Rey tries to swallow. <em>Why is it so hard to swallow?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Oxford!” Kaydel claps. “Ben got his PhD at Oxford!” Kaydel leans on her husband, gripping his shoulders and shaking him to attention.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a very good school,” Rey says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” Ben says, finally raising his eyes to her. He looks completely neutral—she’s unable to detect any hint of emotion on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you…enjoy your time there?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Some of it,” he presses his lips together in a thin smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Poe interrupts, cleaning his throat. She almost forgot he was here. “Rey finished her auto mechanic training in record time. One of the fastest to ever get through the program. She got very high marks, too!”</p><p> </p><p>Rey can’t help but blush. It’s embarrassing to compare her training at a shitty Arizona trade school to Ben’s Doctorate from one of the finest schools in the <em>world. </em>But it’s more embarrassing for her to witness Poe’s clear attempt at bragging. It’s one of the things she dislikes most about him. He gets competitive and insecure, even when he has no reason to be.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a mechanic? Like for cars?” Kaydel asks, sitting up straight. Rey nods, and the other woman’s entire demeanor changes, like she has suddenly found Rey to be the most fascinating person in the room. “How progressive! What is that like? I imagine it’s a male-dominated field.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah it definitely is. I was the only woman in any of my classes. But they weren’t very big classes, anyway. And I’m the only woman at the shop right now, aside from the secretary. But I enjoy it. I’ve always loved cars so it just made sense—“</p><p> </p><p>“But what about the sexism?” Kay cuts her off. “Don’t you—“</p><p> </p><p>“Kay,” Ben interrupts sternly. It sounds like a warning, almost. “Not now.”</p><p> </p><p>Kaydel looks down at her husband, her face tight, and something passes between them that Rey can’t even begin to understand.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Kay says, face schooled into a friendly, neutral expression. “Ben always says I have a hard time turning the journalist off.” She laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Rey says, though she’s not really looking at the other woman. She’s looking to Ben, who is once again staring off into the void.</p><p> </p><p>“But I would definitely like to talk to you more about what you do, sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean yeah. Sure. Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s answer seems to appease the other woman, who leans back against the chair and rests her elbow on her husbands shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“So do you two have any kids?” Poe asks the other couple. Rey hates when he asks this questions because she knows where the conversation will end up. </p><p><br/>“Ugh, no!” Kaydel laughs, like it’s a completely absurd notion. “Not for a long, long time! What about you two?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, none yet,” Poe says. “But soon, hopefully. That’s why we came New York.”</p><p> </p><p>The word <em>soon</em> suddenly makes Rey feel a little sick.</p><p> </p><p>Poe and Kay start debating about children and societal expectations, and Rey stops listening again.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m…going to the buffet,” Rey says, to no one in particular. Poe doesn’t even acknowledge her, too embroiled in his argument. But she doesn’t miss how Ben’s head cranes a little in her direction.</p><p> </p><p>She turns towards the dining room, which is lined with big silver warming trays of God knows what. Knowing Leia, it’s probably all delicious. And expensive.</p><p> </p><p>She grabs a plate and starts piling on a bit of everything, going tray by tray. Impatient partygoers sigh and skip around her as she takes everything in. But one partygoer doesn’t. One waits patiently for her to finish grabbing what she wants, and gently take the tongs from her after each tray.</p><p> </p><p>This goes on for a few trays until she finally looks up, and her heart flies into her throat. Ben Solo is looking down at her. She quickly snaps her head away, and fumbles with the tongs as she tries to hand them over. He continues to follow her down the line, filling his plate almost as high as hers.</p><p> </p><p>When they reach the end of the last tray, she nervously looks around for a place to eat. Almost every surface in Leia’s house is covered in food or something Christmassy, and every corner is occupied by someone. She considers just going back to where Poe and Kaydel were and sitting on the floor to eat. But then Ben walks in front of her, nodding his head towards the swinging door leading into what she remembers is the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>The room is unoccupied, aside from a few caterers who are milling around the food, occasionally going in and out of the swinging door. They pay Ben and Rey no mind. He sets his plate down on the kitchen island and takes a seat on the barstool. She follows his lead.</p><p> </p><p>He starts to pick at his food, but she can’t bring herself to do the same. Her thoughts are muddled, her head feels like it’s filled with cotton. There’s an elephant in the room, and it feels like it’s growing bigger and bigger every moment. She needs to say something before she suffocates.</p><p> </p><p>“You remember me,” she says, finally breaking the silence. It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A cold hard fact.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he says, looking up from his plate. “And you remember me.”</p><p> </p><p>Also not a question.</p><p> </p><p>She nods slightly, pulling her hand up to bite her nails—a nervous habit she’s been unable to kick since childhood.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought so. But you were so drunk that night…” He’s not smiling per se, but she knows he’s teasing her. She can tell because she can see that dimple in his cheek. Oh, she remembers that dimple.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t <em>that </em>drunk.” She stops biting at the skin on nails to push him lightly on his shoulder. A far too familiar gesture for two practical strangers. She pulls her hand back immediately, as if she’s been burned.</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>were,”</em> he insists, a fond little smile finally cracks on his face. And then she can’t help but notice how the smile fades as his eyes flit from her face to her hand. She places her other hand over it, as if trying to keep it under control.</p><p> </p><p>“Not drunk enough to forget you, though,” she says, and she surprises herself at how serious she sounds.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well,” he shrugs and starts aimlessly picking at his food. “I’m pretty memorable.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs lightly, and catches a hint of a smile on his face as he chews. Something inside her feels like it’s going to burst if she keeps looking at him, so she turns to her food, too.</p><p> </p><p>A silence falls over them as they eat. She notices they are both taking small bites, pushing their food around their plates.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” she says, putting her fork down. His head immediately snaps up from his food and his eyes bore into her.</p><p> </p><p>She thought she knew what we wanted to say, where that sentence was going to go. But then he looked at her. And his eyes are so dark and intense—just as they were in her memory—that she’s rendered speechless.</p><p><br/>“So…” he repeats, drawing the word out, waiting for her to finish.</p><p> </p><p>But all she can do is shake her head and beam at him in joyful disbelief. Her mouth parted, words caught behind her teeth, sticking to her tongue. She cannot fathom the series of events that have led her here, to this kitchen, to <em>him</em>. All these years later.</p><p> </p><p>She starts to laugh, a sound that seems to put a smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Kids!” They both jump apart at the sound of Leia barging into the kitchen. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I’m so glad you've met.”</p><p> </p><p>She scurries up behind them, they both swivel on the stools to see a very frenzied-looking Leia.</p><p> </p><p><br/>“I got a game of charades started, but I need you on my team, Benny. Chewie is they only person I could get to play with me and he’s not exactly Mr. Team Player.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ma—“ he starts to protest. But Leia, being Leia, ignores him and turns to Rey.</p><p> </p><p>“You too, Rey. I know you love games after that time you kicked my keister in gin rummy.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben and Rey don’t fight Leia—it would be a useless pursuit, anyway. They abandon their food and head into the parlor. Anything they were about to say or do is lost.</p><p> </p><p>A small group of people has gathered into teams. Ben and Rey are ushered to the sofa, where Chewie is sat looking very much like he’s been kidnapped and forced to be here. which probably isn't far from the truth.</p><p> </p><p>The rules are explained: each team has four minutes to get through as many subject cards as possible. One point per card. No talking, no mouthing words.</p><p> </p><p>And then the game begins.</p><p> </p><p>And Rey quickly realizes that their team is pretty hopeless.</p><p> </p><p>Leia is…objectively terrible at charades. Rey starts to understand why no one wanted to be on her team.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as she’s read her clue, the woman gets completely exasperated. She does bizarre motions and calls them idiots when they make wrong guesses. She cheats a couple times, too, mouthing words, or just straight-up saying them out loud.</p><p> </p><p>Chewie is no better. He repeats the same two lackluster motions, expecting them to understand what the hell he’s trying to convey if he does it enough.</p><p> </p><p>Rey is confident she’s better than them, but still struggles at the beginning. Especially when the cards have some particularly American subjects she’s unfamiliar with. But she catches on quickly. As she always does.</p><p> </p><p>Ben is very good, though. As expected. He makes sure they don’t fall too far behind the other teams. He somehow manages to decipher most of Chewie and Leia’s actions before the timer runs out, and he certainly gets all of hers.</p><p> </p><p>He tells her how good she is after every turn. And she tries to ignore how those words warm in her stomach.</p><p> </p><p>And when it’s his turn to act, he’s very thorough. He does things Rey wouldn’t even think of to help them get the answer. And they <em>do </em>get the answers. Every time he goes. Even when his card says <em>How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.”</em>Rey didn’t even know she’d ever heard of that film.</p><p> </p><p>He’s fascinating to watch. Far more lithe than she thought he would be. But his body moves quickly, and his mind even more so, and to everyone’s shock, they start to catch up to the winning team.</p><p> </p><p>And that <em>rush </em>starts to hit Rey. The kind she gets when she’s so close to victory. When she <em>knows </em>she can win. And then it’s all she can think about.</p><p> </p><p>Chewie and Leia basically give up by the end, forfeiting their turns in favor of Rey and Ben (much to the dismay of the other teams, but no one argues with Leia).</p><p> </p><p>And so they become a team of two, blowing through the cards, shouting the answers. It’s intense and exciting and she feels like she’s eighteen again.</p><p> </p><p>And when their team is announced as the winners, both she and Ben immediately jump up from the couch and fly into each others arms. It’s not a long or particularly tight embrace, but Rey can feel the hard planes of his chest and the muscles in his shoulders, and a blush forms on her cheeks. They quickly break apart, suddenly realizing what they were doing and <em>where,</em> and turn to Leia and Chewie, who are also ecstatic about their win. Leia takes all the credit, of course.</p><p> </p><p>Rey looks to the corner of the room to see Poe and Kaydel standing in the archway, enjoying the scene. She doesn’t know when they got there, but they must have been watching the game—they drew quite a crowd. Poe throws her a smile and a thumbs up, no hint of suspicion in his demeanor—not that he has a reason to have any, anyway. Kaydel runs up to congratulate her husband, and Rey scurries away to hers.</p><p> </p><p>An ache develops in her stomach.</p><p> </p><p>The feeling lasts through the remaining—albeit short—time they spend at the party.</p><p> </p><p>It gets even worse on the drive home when Poe can’t stop talking about the game.</p><p> </p><p>“You and Ben made a great team! I never thought charades could be so intense,” he says enthusiastically.</p><p> </p><p>And she almost—almost—takes this opportunity to tell him what she should have told him earlier. That they knew each other. That they met years ago at a trivia night in Oxford. That she drunkenly tried to kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>And so the pain lingers.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She has an excruciatingly hard time falling asleep.</p><p> </p><p>She tosses and turns, and just wishes this feeling would fuck off. She has no reason to have this anxiety. This<em> guilt.</em></p><p> </p><p>She hasn’t done anything. She <em>hasn’t.</em></p><p> </p><p>Maybe the pain in her stomach was from the alcohol. She can’t really handle her alcohol anymore, even if she only has a little. Or maybe it was the food. Or, no, not the food. She didn’t even get to eat her food! So maybe she’s just starved. That’s it.</p><p> </p><p>She gets out of bed to make herself a little sandwich out of the last few slices of bread and some deli meat. She drinks a glass of warm milk, too. That’s what her mother always made for her before bed. It always worked when she was young.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks she feels better for a moment, but when she gets back into bed, the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach is still there. Sleep remains elusive.</p><p> </p><p>She counts her sheep. Listens to some ASMR. She even slips a couple melatonin down her throat.</p><p> </p><p>But time continues to tick by. Slowly. Painfully.</p><p> </p><p>When the clock shows it’s four in the morning, she decides it’s time to turn to an old favorite—the tried-and-true method she used to get herself to sleep when she was single.</p><p> </p><p>She cranes her neck to check on Poe—to make sure he’s fully asleep—before she lets her hand creep down into her pajama pants.</p><p> </p><p>She tenderly traces over her folds, more than a little surprised to find she’s already soaked. <em>When did this happen?</em></p><p> </p><p>She seeks out that little bundle of nerves, and presses down, working herself in uneven little circles. Sparks fly up her spine, her body catching on fire.</p><p> </p><p>She brings her other hand in, and slips a few digits into her heat. She thrusts them in and out, easily guided by her slick. She builds herself up deliciously slowly. </p><p> </p><p>She tries to think about nothing in particular as she pleasures herself.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tries,</em> being the operative word.</p><p> </p><p>But her horny mind desperately conjures the image of a man doing this to her. A big, boulder of a man with silky dark hair that she could run her fingers through, pull on. A man with plush lips, a sharp face, and a deep voice that would whisper the <em>dirtiest </em>things in her ear as he fucks her.</p><p> </p><p>And he would fuck her good, this man. He would know exactly what she likes. He would start slow at first, letting his cock take long, drawn-out drags. And when she was ready and warmed up, he’d take her fast and hard. He’d play with her clit and suck on her tits and wouldn’t give up on that halfway through. No, he’d worship her body the entire time. He’d make sure she came first. And he would follow soon after, coming inside her so she could feel every twitch and movement of his cock.</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s body starts to convulse a little, and she tries to settle herself down as to not wake the snoring man next to her, but her orgasm is <em>intense. </em>She didn’t realize how much she needed this.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Her face presses into her pillow to muffle the deep moan that emerges from her gut as she comes.</span></p><p> </p><p>She checks on Poe once more to make sure he hasn't noticed. When she hears his reassuring little snores she moves onto her back, evening out her breaths. Her heart rate slows and her mind is calm, content. She thinks she can <em>finally</em> lull herself into sleep.</p><p> </p><p>And it almost works.</p><p> </p><p>Until she realizes she’s just got herself off to the image of Ben Solo.</p><p> </p><p>And come harder than she has in years.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t sleep a wink that night. Her guilty conscience won’t allow it.</p><p> </p><p>She needs to get a fucking grip.</p><p> </p><p>It’s normal to have little crushes, even when you’re married. She and Poe both have a list of celebrity “hall passes.” Whenever Pierce Brosnan comes up on something Poe always refers to him as her boyfriend. They get a laugh out of it.</p><p> </p><p>So it’s not a completely immoral thing for her to…to be <em>attracted </em>to Ben Solo.</p><p> </p><p>She’s only human.</p><p> </p><p>But there’s just something about this that feels...different.</p><p> </p><p>Intriguing.</p><p> </p><p>Dangerous.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="Apple-converted-space">Exciting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apologies for taking over a MONTH to update this. I've fallen terribly behind on my grad work, and had to try to catch up before I could even think about working on this. </p><p>Hope you enjoy xx</p><p> </p><p>(You can find me on tumblr @ CaptainCabinetsao3 if you'd like to harass me or whatever)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Clue(do)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It becomes very apparent—after he’s finished changing practically every lightbulb, caulked the bathtub, and started a load of laundry—that Leia only invited him over to do handiwork around the house.</p><p> </p><p>She always invites Ben over when she knows Kay is out of town. Whether that’s because she thinks he’s lonely or because she doesn’t want to have to deal with Kaydel, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want to know.</p><p> </p><p>But this week her longtime house manager, Charles, is also out of town. And while his mother is responsible for saving many lives and making New York a better place, she can’t function without Charles. Especially since Han died. So he does the chores with very little complaint.</p><p> </p><p>After starting a load of whites, she asks him to sand down the laundry room door—apparently it keeps catching.</p><p> </p><p>And so he does. He steps up on a small stool and gets to work, while she stands below him micromanaging every stroke.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’d like for this door to be blue,” she says contemplatively. “Don’t you think that would look better with this color scheme?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure it would look great,” he says dismissively. </p><p> </p><p>“I think so, too. I found this blue color that I really like…”</p><p> </p><p>Ben sighs, stopping his sanding to look down at his mother.</p><p> </p><p>“Ma, did you invite me over just to do chores?”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely not! I wanted to spend some quality time with my son,” Leia throws her hands on her hips. “And I resent the accusation.” Leia acts appalled, but he can see right through her.</p><p> </p><p>“I feel like quality time usually entails, I don’t know, lunch or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll make you a sandwich if you paint my door. Will that make you happy?”</p><p> </p><p>Ben lets out a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Bring me the paint. I’ll do it after I finish sanding.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s not like he has anything better to do…and Leia <em>does</em> make a mean sandwich.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I don’t have the paint yet,” his mother says, as if it was obvious—as if he was just <em>supposed </em>to know that.</p><p> </p><p>“But you said—"</p><p> </p><p>“I said I<em> found </em>a color that I liked. I didn’t say I <em>had</em> it.”</p><p> </p><p>“So now I need to go buy the paint, too?”</p><p> </p><p>“No need, smart ass, someone’s dropping it off later. They had extra from their own doors they were willing to give me. ”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, how long is that going to be?” he grits.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t snap at me, Benjamin. She said sometime this—"</p><p> </p><p>And then, as if his mother summoned it, the doorbell chimes. Leia raises a brow, and crosses her arms across her chest, like she’s just proven something to him.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose you’ll want me to go get that?”</p><p> </p><p>“If you insist,” Leia says, walking into the kitchen, and very much <em>not </em>towards the front door.</p><p> </p><p>Ben goes through the list of all of Leia’s friends who he would very much not like to see on the other side of that door. He’s had more than enough old women scrutinize every decision he’s ever made for a lifetime. He just hopes it’s not Amilyn…she tries to psychoanalyze him every time she sees him. He doesn’t need <em>another</em> therapist. Especially not one that's changed his diapers.</p><p> </p><p>And so when he finds Rey on the other side of the door, clutching a can of paint, fat snowflakes falling onto her green knit cap, he’s simultaneously relieved and anxious.</p><p> </p><p>It would be a lie to say he hasn’t thought about her since the Christmas party.</p><p> </p><p>He has.</p><p> </p><p>A lot.</p><p> </p><p>More than what’s appropriate, really.</p><p> </p><p>But he can’t help it.</p><p> </p><p>She…<em>awakened </em>something in him that night. Just like she awakened something in him the night they met. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows it felt good to be around her. Very good. He's been incredibly eager to see her again, but anxious at the fact that he didn't know when that would be. And now that he's actually face to face with her, he can't even summon a meager hello.</p><p> </p><p>She’s gaping up at him with wide, hazel eyes. She clearly didn’t expect him to be here, and is just as frozen as he is.</p><p> </p><p>“Let her in, Benjamin—it’s freezing outside!” Leia’s voice spurs him into action. He moves aside. Her eyes linger on him as she steps in, in an almost cautious way. Then she approaches Leia for a hug.</p><p> </p><p>She and Leia start chatting, and his mother begins grooming her like a child. She brushes off the snow and water that’s accumulated on her puffy jacket, and makes her take it off to hang up on the coat rack.</p><p> </p><p>“Benny, come grab the paint!” She demands, snapping her fingers at him. “Rey, would you like a sandwich? I was just about to make my son one, since apparently he only comes over here to eat.” His mother throws him a pointed look.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s really not necessary, Leia. I should really be going—“</p><p> </p><p>“Nonsense. Let me pay you back for the paint. I know you love nothing more than good food, and I make the best sandwiches.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s all she knows how to make,” Ben mutters, apparently loud enough for them to hear.</p><p> </p><p>Rey lets out a little laugh through her nose, and his mother shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she makes her way into the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you like?” Leia shouts from the other room, making it clear she simply will not hearing any other protests from Rey.</p><p> </p><p>Ben approaches her slowly, and takes the can of paint out of her hands. Their fingers brush against each other, sending a sharp little thrill through to core. He swears he hears her breath catch in her throat. She quickly slides past him into the kitchen. Ben follows, but goes back to the laundry room.</p><p> </p><p>He can hear his mother and Rey chatting away in the kitchen while he finishes up his sanding. They talk about what they did for New Years Eve—apparently Rey spent hers at home, alone. Poe was working—just as he is now. It makes him a little sad to hear, despite her insisting she was fine with it. And he’s slightly envious, since he spent his at a torturous work event for Kay.</p><p> </p><p>He finishes up his sanding and starts to prep for painting, but Leia calls him in to eat.</p><p> </p><p>“Turkey on rye,” she says, sliding a plate across the counter, right in front of the seat next to Rey, who is chewing on hers with what can only be described as pure ecstasy on her face. Leia’s sandwiches will do that to a person.</p><p> </p><p>His mother’s phone rings and she grumbles something about work and disappears into the other room. Rey’s eyes look a little desperate as she watches Leia leave, almost like she doesn’t want to be left alone with him. She glances at him for the briefest moments before turning to her plate.</p><p> </p><p>“Your mum’s a very busy woman, isn’t she?” Rey says quietly, taking a bite of her sandwich. He thinks hers might be ham and cheese.</p><p> </p><p>“Always has been,” he responds. And it’s the truth. Half his childhood memories consist of her with a phone glued to her ear. The only thing that’s really changed since then is the size of the phone.</p><p> </p><p>He takes his seat and bites into the sandwich. Nothing but the sound of chewing fills the kitchen.</p><p>He realizes they’re in same seats they sat in during their escape at the Christmas party. And in the same exact position of trying to make small talk over food—trying to dance around a very specific subject.</p><p> </p><p>“How have you been?” He asks, because he can’t think of what else to say.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m well,” she says, pointedly avoiding his eyes. “And you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Also well,” he says, nodding absently. “And work? How is Chewie?”</p><p> </p><p>“Work is good. Chewie is…good,” she starts nodding, too.</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” he says. “Good.”</p><p> </p><p>God this is so uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“So Leia tells me you’re a teacher.”</p><p> </p><p>“Professor. At NYU.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wow, how very posh” she jibes, a smile finally blossoming on her face. “What do you teach?”</p><p> </p><p>“English literature.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm. I would’ve guessed American history.”</p><p> </p><p>And there it is. The acknowledgement of their past.</p><p> </p><p>“How can I teach history if I can’t even remember which battle was the turning point in the American Revolution?”</p><p> </p><p>He gets a wide smile from her at that. He can’t believe she remembers that that was the question, too.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I suppose that should be a requirement for a history professor at an accredited US university.”</p><p> </p><p>“What are we talking about?” Leia says, barging back into the room like a tiny tornado.</p><p> </p><p>“Work,” Ben answers quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah. Is Ben boring you with his stories of academia?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not at all,” Rey says convincingly. “I think it’s impressive. I would have loved to study English literature. In another life.”</p><p> </p><p>“You still could,” Ben says. And she gives him a pinched little smile.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I think that ship has sailed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, hush, Rey. You’re still so young! What are you? Twenty-seven?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be twenty-six in April.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re younger than I thought! You still have time do whatever you want!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m content with my life the way it is. The desire for that just…isn’t there anymore.” It’s unconvincing. She sounds almost wistful, and her words rehearsed.</p><p> </p><p>“Well you must sit in on one of Ben’s classes sometime and see how you like it.” His mother turns to him. ”She can do that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he says, looking into her eyes. “If she would like to.” She can’t quite hold his stare.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe,” Rey says politely, but dismissively.</p><p> </p><p>And he doesn’t like how it makes his stomach sink. He doesn’t like how he had hope that she would say yes. How he would’ve liked to have seen her sitting in front of him in the lecture hall. How he would have liked to discuss Shakespeare and Faust and Austen with her. How he would’ve liked to have just seen her more. Become her friend.</p><p> </p><p>Ben changes the subject quickly, trying to edge out the discomfort that’s reentered the room. They talk about their favorite delis and bagel shops and other non-offensive subjects as they finish eating. When they’ve finished, Ben silently volunteers to clean up.</p><p> </p><p>“I really should be going,” Rey says, sliding off the stool.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure, dear? I just hate the idea of you going home to an empty house.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, I’m used to it.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey swiftly exits the kitchen, leaving Leia and Ben to both scramble after her like frantic ducklings.</p><p> </p><p>“What about the snow?” Ben asks, sounding more distressed than he intended.</p><p> </p><p>“It wasn’t coming down that hard earlier,” Rey says, sloppily pulling on her hat and jacket. “Thank you again, Leia.” She only nods at Ben and pulls open the door to reveal a white wall of falling snow. He can barely see the brownstone across the street through the deluge.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe it’ll slow down…” Rey says, unable to tear her eyes from the snow, like she can’t believe this is happening.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not letting you go out in this,” Leia says, gently closing the door in front of Rey’s frozen face. “Stay. Just for the evening. And if it clears by night, I’ll have Ben drive you home.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s shoulders fall, like she’s been defeated. She slowly peels off her hat and coat, hanging them back on the rack. Leia tucks their arms together, and leads her away from the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Come, we’ll turn on the news. Let’s see what we’re in for.” The two women disappear into the parlor, and Ben feels very uninvited. Ignored. Another uneasy feeling passes over him, and instead of thinking too hard about it, he decides to just go paint Leia’s damn door.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>As much as he wants to do a rush job on the door, he knows that if there are spots missing color, or any drips, or imperfections of any kind, Leia will probably have him go out to buy a whole new door.</p><p> </p><p>So he takes his time, making slow and precise movements with his brush. It’s mind-numbing. Especially with nothing but the humming of the washer and dryer and the occasional cackle from across the house to fill the silence.</p><p> </p><p>God he hopes his mother isn’t showing Rey any pictures from his teenage years. Baby pictures are fine—he was a surprisingly cute baby—but he draws the line at his moody, scowly, Nirvana years.</p><p> </p><p>After he’s finished one side of the door to his satisfaction, his curiosity draws him into the parlor, where he finds the two women leaning against each other on the couch, dying of laughter.</p><p> </p><p>Based on the smell, they’ve started drinking—tapped a little to hard into Leia’s famous drink cart.</p><p> </p><p>His mother can successfully make two things: sandwiches, and mixed drinks.</p><p> </p><p>He’s more than a little relieved to see the photo albums still neatly tucked on the shelves behind them. They’re just giggling over some video on Rey’s phone. Some reality show is blasting on the television, and for reasons he can’t even begin to fathom, they both seem to have dumped out all the contents of their purses onto the coffee table as well.</p><p> </p><p>“Benny!” His mother shouts, perking up upon noticing him. “Come entertain us.”</p><p> </p><p>“You seem to be doing a pretty good job of that yourself,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, we’re very bored, I assure you.”</p><p> </p><p>The two of them giggle conspiratorially.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says, and looks to Rey. “Shall we play a game, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“A game! Yes. A game. Go into the basement, all your old board games are down there. Pick something I can win for once!”</p><p> </p><p>Ben does as his mother says, and picks Yahtzee and Clue. Yahtzee, because it’s mostly a game of chance. And Clue because he thinks Rey would like it. And the woman in red on the front of the box looks a little like her.</p><p> </p><p>They play Yahtzee first, and Leia is riding a very lucky wave. She wins the first two rounds, and while a pretty gracious loser, he can tell Rey is getting frustrated at her shitty rolls. Her mouth seems to have permanently pressed itself into thin line, and every time Leia rolls a high score, Rey’s eyebrows automatically knit together.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t help but think how she has very much not changed in this respect. Her fierce competitiveness and drive is endearing. </p><p> </p><p>After they’ve finished their fourth round of Yahtzee (Leia, 3, Ben, 1, Rey, 0), Ben gets up to stretch, and moves the curtains aside. The weather outside has only gotten worse, as predicted by the the weathermen on every news channel.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll just have to stay the night, then,” Leia says.</p><p> </p><p>Rey, who so desperately seemed to want to leave earlier, surprisingly doesn’t object.</p><p> </p><p>Leia tells Ben to make up the guest room—well, one of the guest rooms. Why he picks the one right across from his childhood bedroom is anyone’s guess. He’d just like to be closer to her if she needs anything. It’s the nicest of the spare rooms, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks she’ll need some clothes to sleep in, too, and goes to pick out some of Leia’s things for her. He stands in front of Leia’s clothing drawers for longer than expected, and decides he can’t bring himself to rifle through her stuff—fully afraid of what he might find in there. On his way out of her room he grabs a long, silky robe off a hook, and heads to his own dresser. He’s got some old clothes that might fit her.</p><p> </p><p>He grabs a green t-shirt from Camp Starkiller that he went to a few years in middle and high school. There’s an old pair of black boxers that seem to be in good condition, too. He goes back downstairs and throws everything into the wash before returning to the women.</p><p> </p><p>“Can we play Cluedo now? I’m sick of this game,” Rey mutters.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fine,” Leia says, clearly a little miffed that they’re going to disrupt her winning streak.</p><p> </p><p>They pull the other game out, and pick their characters.</p><p> </p><p>His mother is Mrs. Peacock.</p><p> </p><p>Ben is Professor Plum.</p><p> </p><p>And Rey chooses Ms. Scarlett—and in her slightly tipsy state she’s decided to fully embrace the character aspect of the game. Which mostly just makes him laugh, but he also finds it incredibly charming and just the least bit arousing.</p><p> </p><p>Halfway through the game, Mrs. Peacock falls asleep on the couch. Professor Plum and Ms. Scarlett are left to solve the mystery on their own.</p><p> </p><p>“I know who the perpetrator was,” Ms. Scarlett declares in a terrible southern antebellum accent.</p><p> </p><p>“Go on,” Ben says.</p><p> </p><p>“Mrs. Peacock, in the conservatory, with the lead pipe.”</p><p> </p><p>She slaps down her notes, and grabs the envelope in the middle of the board to pull out the cards. She’s spot on.</p><p> </p><p>Ben lets out an exaggerated gasp, and Ms. Scarlett smiles proudly.</p><p> </p><p>“Peacock, what do you have to say for yourself?” Ben tries a vaudeville accent for the Professor, and holds a fake microphone up to his sleeping mother’s wide-open mouth.</p><p> </p><p>When she lets a loud snore out, they both try to contain their laughter as to not wake her.</p><p> </p><p>“I win,” Rey says sweetly, but there's a smug undertone there.</p><p> </p><p>“You did,” Ben confirms. He crumples up his own guess list, where he had guessed the same outcome a few turns ago. But just like the night they met, she needed this more than he did.</p><p> </p><p>Ben cleans up, and goes to fetch the clothes he picked for her from the dryer. She smiles fondly at the warm, folded pile. But when he tells her that he’ll show her to her room, the smile becomes sobered. She looks to Leia on the couch.</p><p> </p><p>“Should we wake her?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, she would fall asleep on the couch all the time when I was growing up.” Often using important documents as a blanket.</p><p> </p><p>Rey nods, grabs some of her things, and follows him upstairs. He flips on the light switch for her, and she drops her stuff on the bed. Ben gives her some privacy to change and goes into his own room.</p><p> </p><p>She pops up her head around his doorframe a few minutes later—just as he’s about to change. She’s changed herself, Leia’s robe tightly wrapped around her small frame.</p><p> </p><p>“This is your childhood bedroom?” She asks, her glassy eyes dancing around the room.</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” he confirms, watching her observe the room.</p><p> </p><p>“I expected there to be more spaceships or dinosaurs or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“I moved out at eighteen, not eight.” </p><p> </p><p>She flashes him a dimpled smile, and looks around a little more, still not crossing the threshold.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” she says, pulling her head out of the doorframe. “Goodnight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Goodnight.”</p><p> </p><p>She lingers for a second more, as if waiting for something, and does a little hum before disappearing across the hall. He doesn’t hear the door click, though. He listens for it for nearly an hour, but it never comes. So he doesn’t close his all the way either.</p><p> </p><p>Light snores from across the hall lull him into sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Leia is the first to wake in the morning, and Ben knows this because he wakes to the sound of her yelling at someone on the phone. He’s always been a light sleeper, and he knows he won’t be able to fall back asleep with her screeching carrying into his room, so he decides to just get up.</p><p> </p><p>He closes Rey’s door on his way down, hoping to block some of his mother’s very loud lecture from disturbing her own sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Leia’s already started a pot of coffee, and there’s a half-eaten piece of toast on the counter, but Ben feels the urge to make something more grand. They have a guest, after all.</p><p> </p><p>He cuts up some fruit, fries some eggs, and pops some more toast into the toaster oven. He’d like to cook some baked beans and bacon—to give Rey a full English—but Leia’s food stock is severely lacking. He hopes they don’t get snowed in for weeks, otherwise they’ll be living off fibrous cereals and alcohol.</p><p> </p><p>There is pancake mix, though, so those become the main feature. He sets everything out on the island in neat, little bowls and begins cooking.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning,” a small, raspy voice says from behind him.</p><p> </p><p>He turns to find a very tired-looking Rey shuffle into the kitchen. He can’t help but look her up and down. She’s got his mother’s gaudy robe still on, but it’s undone, revealing his old t-shirt and boxers loosely hanging on her body.</p><p> </p><p>Her nipples have decided to make themselves known as well.</p><p> </p><p>His dick twitches—just a little—at the sight of them, and he has to turn around before it gains a mind of its own. It's been prone to do that lately.</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” he says, throat tight. “You like pancakes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Love them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great. Have a seat. I’ve got some in the pan just now.”</p><p> </p><p>They sit in almost-silence, the only sound cutting through the room is the sizzling pan and Leia’s yelling from the other room.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe she’s not hungover. I feel like absolute piss,” Rey admits, rubbing her temples.</p><p> </p><p>“She is, she’s just always been great at hiding it.”</p><p> </p><p>He moves to the island, carefully balancing two pancakes on his spatula, and drops it on Rey’s plate. Her eyes light up, and she quickly loads it up with the syrup and fruit he left out.</p><p> </p><p>He leans his side against the counter and just watches her eat. It’s cute, really, the way she just shovels it all in. Like a child discover sugar for the first time in their life.</p><p> </p><p>She’s far too engrossed in her food to notice his gaze at first, and when she finally does she slows her chewing and ducks her head sheepishly.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t remember you having freckles,” he says, almost unconsciously.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she says. Her fork clatters against the plate as she moves her hands to cover them. “I’ve always had them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” Ben mumbles. He gets the tiniest thrill out of the rosy blush forming on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“They got more noticeable from living in Arizona for so long.” She grazes her fingers across her nose and cheeks, as if trying to erase them. “They’re impossible to cover up, now. I hate them.”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know why he grabs her hands to pull them away from her face, but he does. He doesn’t like the idea of her not liking something about herself. Or feeling like she would need to hide that from him.</p><p> </p><p>He also doesn’t know if it’s his hands or hers that are shaking—vibrating. Maybe both.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re nice,” he says, gently.</p><p> </p><p>She stutters a tiny thank you. But she doesn’t pull her hand from his. He has a sudden flashback of when they first met. Of when she held his face with these hands. Of when he kissed these hands. He’d never kissed a woman’s hand before in his life, and he still doesn’t know what possessed him to do it then.</p><p> </p><p>Their sleepy smiles slowly turn very serious, until they are just staring at each so intensely an outside observer might think they are trying to mind-meld. And maybe they are. Because Ben feels they have come to an understanding. One they can’t name just yet. Or give too much thought to. But an understanding nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>They stay like that, on opposite sides of the island, hands clasped, staring, for a while. Enough time for a pancake to burn like hell. Enough time for the doorbell to ring, and for Leia to let someone new into the house.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve come to rescue my dear wife!” A man’s humored voice booms through the house.</p><p> </p><p>Rey and Ben’s hands leave each other like they've both been electrocuted, and Rey swiftly goes back to eating, shoveling an obscene amount of pancake into her mouth. Ben turns back to the stove to address the hockey puck he’s just created in the pan.</p><p> </p><p>Then Poe walks in, all boisterous and much peppy for this early in the morning. He sees Ben first.</p><p> </p><p>“Solo!” He yells, throwing his arms up, as if he’s absolutely delighted to see Ben. Ben really, really can’t say the same.</p><p> </p><p>My wife!” He then says, feigning desperation and relief, he sits next to her and hangs off her like a toddler.</p><p> </p><p>“When did you get back?” She asks, in lieu of a greeting. Her surprise is apparent, even through a mouthful of pancake. </p><p> </p><p>“Four this morning—took forever for them to clear the runway. I couldn’t sleep until I saw you, though.” He sits next to her and kisses one of her very full cheeks. She smiles gently, but doesn’t quite look at him.</p><p> </p><p>Rey hums a little, and Poe shifts his attention to Ben.</p><p> </p><p>“You, uh, got any extra flapjacks in there, Solo? I haven’t had the chance to eat a proper meal in over twenty-four hours.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben probably would tell him no, if there weren’t four perfectly decent pancakes cooking in his pan already. So he just nods, and pulls another plate out of the cabinet.</p><p> </p><p>“What is this robe?” He asks, rubbing the silk number between his fingers. She pulls it tighter around her chest, shielding Ben’s old clothes underneath.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Leia’s…I didn’t have anything here. She let me borrow a few things.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m getting a taste of what you’ll look like as a grandmother, I guess,” Poe says, prodding at the robe again.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly Ben feels very defensive of his mother’s abhorrent, matronly fashion taste. He bites his tongue and flips one of Poe’s pancakes. He lets them get a little brown before he serves them to the other man, then makes some fluffier ones for himself.</p><p> </p><p>The three of them sit around the island and eat, while Poe tells his harrowing tales from flying the last few days. Ben isn’t really paying attention. And he thinks Rey really isn’t either. They both just let Poe chatter on and on until Leia comes in and asks where her pancakes are. Ben gives her his, his appetite gone, and starts cleaning up.</p><p> </p><p>“So what did you guys do last night?” Poe asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing much,” Rey answers, shoving more food into her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“We played Yahtzee,” Leia answers. “I kicked their asses.”</p><p><br/>
“Oh, Yahtzee!” Poe bellows. “I haven’t played that in forever!”</p><p> </p><p>And that’s how Ben ends up playing another two painful rounds of Yahtzee. They play across the kitchen island, and he couldn’t be any more unenthusiastic about it. Rey seems bored of it, too. But Poe and Leia are having a blast.</p><p> </p><p>Noon hits, and Leia decides she doesn’t like the game anymore after Poe and Ben win the rounds. The snow has stopped and the roads have been cleared.</p><p> </p><p>It’s time for Rey to go.</p><p> </p><p>She disappears for a while, to gather her things, Ben assumes. When she reappears in the front hall, she’s back in her clothes from yesterday. Ben silently hands her her hat and coat, and they go out on the front steps, closing the door behind them.</p><p> </p><p>They’re alone again.</p><p> </p><p><em>Finally, </em>Ben thinks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He didn't realize how suffocated he felt with everyone else around. He didn't realize how much he craves being alone with her.</span></p><p> </p><p>They stand in the cold, and just wait, taking turns glancing at each other through the corners of their eyes, and then looking away at the street.</p><p> </p><p>“I…I’m not sure how to…to do this,” she says, breaking the silence—her words disjointed and unsure.</p><p> </p><p>“Do what?” He asks, stepping a little closer.</p><p> </p><p>“This,” she motions between them. “It’s just…weird. Don’t you think it’s weird?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he lies. Because, yes, it’s been weird. So weird. Weird in the absolute best and worst way.</p><p> </p><p>“But I mean…” She leans in and lowers her voice, like she’s about to tell a dirty secret. “I…I <em>kissed y</em>ou.”</p><p> </p><p>And maybe that is a dirty secret, to her. And he doesn’t want her to feel that way. Doesn’t want her to feel ashamed for something he’s treasured for years.</p><p> </p><p>“Seven <em>years</em> ago, Rey,” he tries to laugh a little, tries to make light of it—nothing to be embarrassed about. “And anyway, that was hardly a kiss. You missed.”</p><p> </p><p>A crimson wave overtakes her already rosy cheeks. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth and turns away from him, as if to hide her embarrassment. She stares out at the ugly, greystreet for a beat before turning back. There’s a false veil of confidence on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right. You’re right…So this isn’t going to be a—a problem for you?” She asks, in a watery voice. It sounds a little sad and suddenly his chest hurts.</p><p> </p><p>And he thinks that yes, this very much could be a problem for him. It already <em>is </em>a problem for him. Has been since the second he saw her again. Because meeting her again wasn’t like running into an old school mate. Or an old friend. Or even an ex-girlfriend. She’s an ex-almost. An ex-maybe.</p><p> </p><p>And that almost, that maybe, has kept him up at night for weeks.</p><p> </p><p>But he can’t say all that to her. Because she’s married. And he’s married. And they can be nothing but friends. That’s all they ever will be.</p><p> </p><p>“Why would it be a problem, Rey?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t think she’ll answer honestly—not that he knows what the truth is to her anyways. And maybe he doesn’t want to hear the truth. Maybe the truth will ruin everything. So he’s more relieved than disappointed when her mouth parts, but no words come out, just breathy stutters.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey?” Another voice silences Rey entirely. “You ready?” The two of them turn their heads in unison towards the door.</p><p> </p><p>Poe is standing there, his hands jammed into his pockets, bouncing a little to keep himself warm. His face shows no signs of having overheard any of their conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Rey looks between the two of them, Ben and Poe, and bites her lower lip. She says nothing to Ben as she descends the steps, her husband trailing behind.</p><p> </p><p>“This was fun, Solo!” Poe says, wrapping his arm around Rey to keep her warm. She stares at the ground. A flash of something hot and violent jolts through Ben’s body. It’s brief, but powerful. “We should do it again sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>“We should,” Ben says, though he’s pretty sure he’d be happy to never see Poe Dameron again in his life. But if he has to see Poe to see Rey, he’ll suffer through it.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, we’re having a together at ours next weekend for the big game. Nothing major, just some neighbors and friends from the Air Force. Why don’t you and the wife join us? It’ll be a good time.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey snaps her head up, glaring daggers into the side of her husbands thick skull. Dameron doesn’t seem notice, and just smiles stupidly at Ben, waiting for an answer.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, we might be busy. But thanks for the invite.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well let me know. I’ll get your details from your mother and we’ll get in touch.” Poe waves his hand goodbye, and Ben can only nod in return. He watches as Rey drags them down the sidewalk like a petulant child. Ben is surprised she doesn’t just grab him by the ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Benjamin!” His mothers gravelly voice cuts through his thoughts. She’s standing behind him, in the doorway, bitching about the cold or something, but he doesn’t really process anything he’s saying. He doesn’t turn to look at her, his eyes completely unable to look at anything but Rey walking away in the distance. When she’s faded away, he finally looks at Leia.</p><p> </p><p>“—and you didn’t even finish painting my door,” she says, finishing whatever tangent she was on.</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, his breath a visible puff in the cold air.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll do it now,” he says, sounding more grim than he intended. His mother narrows her eyes at him in the same way she would when he was a kid and was lying about brushing his teeth at night. He quickly steps past her, into the house, before she asks to smell his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s with the sourpuss?” She calls after him.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t have a retort because what <em>is </em>with the sourpuss?</p><p> </p><p>He’s got no reason to be so…bitter.</p><p> </p><p>Except maybe he does.</p><p> </p><p>He’s thinks maybe he’s…jealous. Jealous that Rey has a good husband who would come all this way in the freezing cold to pick her up, despite being sleep deprived and overworked.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t think about his own wife even <em>once </em>the whole of yesterday evening.</p><p> </p><p>And to be fair, she didn’t text or call either. She’s busy, they both know that. It’s never bothered him before.</p><p> </p><p>But maybe his jealousy doesn’t end there.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he’s not just jealous because<em> Poe</em> is a good husband.</p><p> </p><p>He’s jealous because Poe gets to be <em>her </em>good husband.</p><p> </p><p>He briefly entertains the thought of what that would be like—to be married to Rey, to go home with Rey, to have a family with Rey—before he snaps himself back into reality, and calls Kaydel.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apologies for the long wait--again. I had to finish three months of school work in three weeks because I'm a dumbass lol. Hopefully this extra long chapter makes up for it. We should be back to our regularly scheduled bullshit.</p><p>Let it Linger should be updated this Sunday, for anyone following that fic as well :)</p><p>(You can find me on Tumblr @ Captaincabinetsao3)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Ping Pong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey has never been a good cook.</p><p> </p><p>She knows this.</p><p> </p><p>Anyone who has ever eaten anything she’s ever made knows this.</p><p> </p><p>Poe <em>especially </em>knows this.</p><p> </p><p>So why he volunteered her to cook for his stupid friends, she has no idea.</p><p> </p><p>He ordered wings and bought a few cases of beer, but said he’d “trust her with the rest.”</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know what that meant. But she said she’d try, though she had no idea where to start.</p><p> </p><p>She had to Google “what do Americans eat on Super Bowl Sunday?” to figure out what the hell she would even be expected to make.</p><p> </p><p>She decided on a pot of chili, some pigs in a blanket, and an apple pie. It can’t all be that hard, she thought. And she wanted to challenge herself, for once, and she didn’t plan on doing <em>everything </em>from scratch. She sifted through many, many mind-numbing mommy blog recipes and initially felt confident in her ability to <em>not </em>fuck this up.</p><p> </p><p>But she’s burnt the pigs, the pie is runny, and the chili has turned into some kind of impossibly thick loaf-like substance inside the pan. She’s spent hours cooking and this is all she has to show for it. She starts to lose it a little,Poe tries to calm her down, he tells her it’s okay, she’s not a failure. He even goes so far as to plate the pigs and pie and set them on the buffet.</p><p> </p><p>The chili, though, is a lost cause, so he dumps it and orders pizza instead. And even though it was a hideous beast, it hurts to see her creation thrown in the bin like that.</p><p> </p><p>She tidies the disaster of the kitchen and then disappears with an open bottle of wine. She goes to the bathroom and sits herself down in the tub. And she starts to cry.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t really know why. She hasn’t cried in a while and she can’t help but think it just feels good. It's a release. The best way she can think to calm herself down. So she just sits and cries and takes swigs of the wine and allows herself to think about absolutely nothing at all. Guests have arrived. Many of them, if the constant doorbell chiming and her husbands enthusiastic, <em>loud </em>greetings are any indicator.</p><p> </p><p>It’s been at least a half hour and no one has come to find her.</p><p> </p><p>When her bones start to ache, she finally stands and mentally prepares herself to go out to greet people. Before she can step out, she catches her reflection in the mirror above the sink. And for a second, she wonders who that is in the reflection. She doesn’t know this person staring back at her.</p><p> </p><p>And then there’s a knock on the door.</p><p> </p><p>She scrambles out of the tub and pulls the curtain shut, shielding the bottle of wine she’s very nearly finished. A cold splash of water soothes her aching eyes and runs a quick brush through her hair. And then she pulls the door open, and almost immediately wants to slam it shut</p><p> </p><p>Ben Solo is standing there, fist frozen in the air, as if prepared to knock again.</p><p> </p><p>Why the fuck did he come? He said he and his wife had a “thing,” did he not?</p><p> </p><p>“I was wondering where you were,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>His voice is so gentle. Why does he have to speak to her so gently? So intimately? <em>Ugh.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m right here.” She’s surprised with the level of venom that tinges her voice.</p><p> </p><p>“So you are,” he says, and he has the audacity to fucking smile at her.</p><p> </p><p>“If you’ll excuse me.” She sniffles a little as she tries to push past him.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” he says, and grabs her elbow before she can get anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>He guides her back in front of him, pushing them further into the bathroom—further into the light.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>She can’t look at him when she says that, though. She stares at her feet, waiting patiently for him to move along with his business so she can move along with hers.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been crying,” he says plainly.</p><p> </p><p>“Have not,” she insists with a snap.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t care how obvious her puffy eyes or red face are. She’ll die on this hill. He doesn’t have to care about her. There’s no reason for him to care about her. They’re not friends. They’re not <em>anything. </em>He made that clear. He’s not as...affected by her as she is him. It’s fine. It’s probably better off that way. </p><p> </p><p>“Is everything okay?” he asks. He steps forward a little. “Rey—“</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you even here? I thought you were too busy to come,” she accuses, finally looking him in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>“I—I was. And then I wasn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“How great for us.” She mutters sarcastically, and then squeezes past him to escape. He doesn’t stop her this time.</p><p> </p><p>She’s being petty. She knows this. And she can’t blame it all on the alcohol because she’s been upset about this for days. She tried to let what he last said to her roll off her back. She shouldn’t be hurt that a man <em>who is not her husband</em> doesn’t feel anything for her.</p><p> </p><p>But they’d had such a nice evening. One of the best nights she's had in such a long time, despite an uncomfortable start. It was weird seeing him again after she'd fucked herself to his face. And she didn't know how to react, except to desperately try to get out of there. But Leia hadn't let her, and the weather made it impossible. And so they spent the night talking and laughing and playing Cluedo. She <em>loves </em>Cluedo. </p><p> </p><p>But she fooled herself into thinking that he felt something for her. Just a little something. He’s so kind to her. And compliments her. And he <em>understands</em> her. She doesn't have to pretend or explain herself to him. He just intrinsically knows.</p><p> </p><p>And he'd held her hands like she was something precious.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <em>That </em>was what did her in.</span></p><p> </p><p>But maybe that’s just the kind of man he is. Maybe he makes everyone he’s around feel that way. And maybe she should stop deluding herself, and drink some fucking water before she passes out from all the alcohol she just consumed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Rey does her best to pretend nothing is wrong—a skill she mastered from her time living with her grandfather. She makes her rounds and greets her guests. She helps top off the food and keep the counters clean. She grabs beers for Poe and his friends. She ignores Ben Solo and tries not to think too hard about the fact that his wife isn’t here with him. And she does it all with a pounding headache from the wine she just guzzled.</p><p> </p><p>What a dutiful wife that woman in the mirror is.</p><p> </p><p>This goes on for a while. Hours maybe. How fucking long are these fucking games supposed to last, again? She's not even watching, though she does sneak a peak at the halftime show to admire JLo's insane body.</p><p> </p><p>And then one of the neighbors kids spills Koolaid onto one of her white decorative pillows. She might have been upset if the bright red stain had not offered her an easy escape from everything. She goes into the laundry and starts working the color out.</p><p> </p><p>As she tries to clean, she hears a small clicking noise is flowing through the cracks of the door that leads into the garage. When she opens it up, she finds Ben there, playing ping pong with one of the neighbor kids. Johnny? James? Jimmy? She can’t remember his name, but she knows he’s one of Poe’s friends kid. Probably no older than eight. They're both bundled in their jackets and hats, as the garage is bloody freezing. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Mrs. D,” he says, grunting like Serena as he hits the ball across the table. Ben’s clearly going easy on him, but the kid is still struggling. He’s red faced and sweaty in the way kids get when they’ve been exerting themselves, and she can see his short puffs of breath in the cold air.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello," she says, getting both of their attention. "What're you two doing in here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. D said he had the ping pong table set up in here, and I wanted to play. Mr. Solo said he’d play with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, I see.” Rey nods.</p><p> </p><p>Poe initially wanted to set up beer pong in here, but Rey told him it would be much too cold in there for that. He insisted on setting up the ping pong table anyway, despite her insistence that no one would want to come out here and play. She supposes she owes him a bit of an apology now.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, are there any more of those mini hot dog things left?” The kid asks.</p><p> </p><p>“The pigs in a blanket? They’re burnt.” She cringes a little at the fact that they're still on the buffet.</p><p> </p><p>“Still good to me.” The kid shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s frosted-over heart warms a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, there’s plenty.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool. I’m gonna go eat. Bye Mr. Solo!”</p><p> </p><p>The kid—Jake, Ben calls him as he says goodbye—abandons the game of ping pong, and she and Ben are left alone in the cold, drafty garage.</p><p> </p><p>“Play me?” he asks, tossing the little white ball at her. </p><p> </p><p>She thinks about saying no. But the fact of the matter is she wants to. She likes playing with him. So she picks up the paddle and gives the ball a gentle tap. They don't talk for a while. Him, probably still uncomfortable with what transpired earlier. And her, definitely uncomfortable with what transpired earlier.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you playing ping pong when America's biggest event is on the telly right now?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>“The kid asked nicely,” he says, tapping the ball towards her. “And I don’t really care for football.”</p><p> </p><p>“Neither do I. Well, not <em>American</em> football, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? What’s your team back at home?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aston Villa,” she says proudly. It was her mother’s favorite team. “Did you support anyone during your time in England?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not particularly. I went to an Arsenal game once. But that’s it.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey pretends to spit on the ground at the very utterance of the name “Arsenal F.C.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry to offend,” he laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“Forgiven. I mean I can’t pretend like I’ve never fraternized with enemy teams. Finn and I used to go to Crystal Palace games all the time, just because the stadium was close to where we lived.”</p><p> </p><p>“Finn?” He inquires, his voice laden with a curious drip.</p><p> </p><p>“My friend. My best friend.”</p><p> </p><p>“Was he there the night we met?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. And his wife. And her sister, Paige.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey chokes a little at that last name.</p><p> </p><p>“And where are they now? Still in England?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. They were in the Philippines. Rose—his wife was stationed there for years. They’re in Vietnam right now, though. Paige...died and they went to live with Rose’s family for a while. It’s been years since I’ve seen them in person.”</p><p> </p><p>Her tone must’ve gone completely sober, as if often does when she talks about them, because he stops the game briefly to offer a sympathetic look.</p><p> </p><p>“You miss them,” he says. A statement, not a question. Her longing for her friends is surely plain on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“Terribly.”</p><p><br/>“I’m sorry,” he says. Though there’s no reason for him to be, it’s nice to hear. She doesn’t talk about them a lot. They all try to keep in touch as much as possible, but it’s hard. And so thinking about them makes her sad. Makes her long for another time. A time they can’t get back.</p><p> </p><p>Rey and Ben go silent for a moment. Contemplative. The only sound echoing off the walls is the bounce of the ping pong ball. And in that silence her guilt starts to make her itch.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I was rude earlier,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>The apology slips from her tongue quite easily, and she feels as if she’s shed a layer of skin. She’s never been good at apologizing. Ever. But this one wasn’t too bad. Because she was being unfair.</p><p> </p><p>“Apology accepted,” he says. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not—not really.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says, not pressing.</p><p> </p><p>“I was just having a bit of a moment.”</p><p> </p><p>“I understand completely. But…you’re okay now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she says. But then more words start to spill out of her mouth.  “Sometimes I just…I feel so alone. Even with a house full of company.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not alone,” he says, earnestly.</p><p> </p><p>They look up at each other, and their game becomes an afterthought. She misses his serve. She lets the ball fly right past her and it bounces to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Her body suddenly feels like a live wire. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of someone telling her something and her being able to believe it. Trust it.</p><p> </p><p>“Neither are you,” she says, her voice only slightly above a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>They study each other for a moment. Staring unabashedly, without consciousness or insecurity. She wishes she could reach out to him. Touch his hand. But she doesn’t get the chance. </p><p> </p><p>A raucous screaming booms from inside the house. An alert from Ben’s phone chimes through the garage. He pulls it out and reads the notification.</p><p> </p><p>“The game’s over. Kansas City won,” he clicks the phone shuts and slides it back into his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“Woohoo,” Rey says, halfheartedly, waving her paddle in the air. She gets a little smile from him for that.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I should be going, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey nods, and they both set their paddles down. He starts to make his way to the door, but stops when a word pops from her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Why…” She trails off, not knowing if she should ask what she wants to ask. “Why did you leave?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.</p><p> </p><p>“Seven years ago. When I kissed you—or <em>tried</em> to kiss you—you walked away from me instead of…I don’t know. Taking me back to yours. Or even getting my number. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>How she wishes she crawl into his head right now and pick out the answer. She wants to understand him better. Know him better.</p><p> </p><p>“You were drunk,” he finally says. “And so young. And I liked you too much to involve myself in your life.”</p><p> </p><p>She starts nodding again. It makes sense. Of course it does. She <em>was</em> drunk and she<em> was</em> young and he probably could have easily taken advantage of her. And from the little that Leia and Poe have told her, he <em>was </em>a mess. She herself was her own special brand of messy at the time. They probably would have destroyed each other.</p><p> </p><p>But, oh, how she would have liked to have known him then.</p><p> </p><p>“What about now?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>He raises his brows at her, and rests his back against the door, arms hanging at his sides, palms flat against the wood as if he's bracing himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Now?” he says, voice rough. It feels like he's stalling.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. How do you feel now?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think…that you’re still drunk. And you're still young.” He has just the slightest grin on his face, as if he’s trying to play off this conversation as lighthearted. But it’s not lighthearted to her.</p><p> </p><p>“But what about the other part?”</p><p> </p><p>His grin falls, and his seriousness finally matches hers. He runs his hand down his face and sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m here now, aren’t I?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He lifts his arms and shoulders in a slight shrug.</span></p><p> </p><p>Rey’s head starts to bob. She just nods because she understands and she can’t think of what to say. Or rather, she can think of a million things to say and ask, but they would all turn out disastrous because of who they are and where they are and what they are.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> So she just asks one little thing.</span></p><p> </p><p>“Do you regret it?” she asks. His hand pauses on the doorknob. He whips his head back to her, brows slightly knit—a question there. “Do you regret walking away that night?”</p><p> </p><p>She needs to know. She needs to know so, so badly. Because she's been so full of regrets and guilt since they’ve met again. And it might be stupid and naive and dangerous, but she can't help but long for all the "what ifs" she’s conjured in her mind. It's been driving her absolutely mental. Especially because she knows—despite his indifference—she just <em>knows</em> he's feeling it, too.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he finally says. And her heart finds a new home in the bottom of her stomach.</p><p> </p><p>She has no right to feel as devastated as she does, and yet she wants nothing more than the earth to just swallow her whole. </p><p> </p><p>“But," he starts, then pauses, mashing his lips together. Probably considering his next words very carefully, as to not upset her further. "I do regret not finding you sooner.”</p><p> </p><p>She wants to say that she feels the same way. She regrets letting him walk away. But the words fall short on her lips. How can she say that and not change absolutely everything? Is she ready for that?</p><p> </p><p>He leaves. And she can't help but regret letting him do that, too. The tears from earlier find their way back into her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>They’re playing a new kind of game here. One of unspoken words and questionable morals. Neither of them is winning at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>But neither of them is losing, either.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s getting real sick of waking up with a hangover.</p><p> </p><p>She’s consumed more alcohol in the last two months than she has in years. And there’s a clear common denominator between all of these instances, that she chooses not to address. So she eats a light breakfast and reads the news on her phone. </p><p> </p><p>Poe is cleaning the house, talking to her on and off as he jumps from room to room. It's exhausting to watch. She can only grunt when he asks why there's a bottle of wine in the bathtub. He blames it on the neighbor kids, and she lets him.</p><p> </p><p>“It was a great game last night—too bad you missed most of it,” he says as he pulls the trash from the bin and ties the bag.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh huh,” she says, massaging her temples. She keeps her nose hovering over her steaming coffee, hoping the vapors will help wake her up.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe Solo gave up his ticket to the<em> actual</em> game. What an idiot.”</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> wakes her up.</p><p> </p><p>“What did you say?” She turns to look at her husband.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, he didn’t tell you? Ben had tickets to the actual game. His wife gets them for press or something. She was there, and he was going to go with her, but said he had a lot of work to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s…crazy,” she says a little breathlessly. She turns back to her coffee, trying not to let her face reveal too much.  </p><p> </p><p>“Right?" he bellows. "I don't care if you were in labor with our firstborn son—I would find a way to be at that game.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice,” she says, morosely. She rolls her eyes into her coffee cup.</p><p> </p><p>He barks out a laugh, and insists he’s only joking. He uses that voice she hates. The one where he tries to humor her after she gets mad about something. The one that makes her think she's being ridiculous. Then he comes and kisses her on the back of the head and disappears with the trash.</p><p> </p><p>It’s too much—<em>way too far</em>—to believe that he would give up going to the actual Super Bowl to be here. With her. He wouldn't do that, no matter how much he dislikes football or needs to work. Right?</p><p> </p><p>But what was it that he said? <em>I'm here now, aren't I?</em></p><p> </p><p>Was yesterday a gesture? A sign of something? She doesn't know. But she's left to wonder what else that man would be willing to give up for her. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know nothing about the Super Bowl and had to Google all this stuff (just like Rey), so if there's anything weird about it, that's why. Please forgive any other mistakes as well--I'll get to them eventually ;)</p><p>Hope everyone is safe, well, and trying to educate themselves during this time &lt;3</p><p>You can find me on Tumblr @ Captaincabinetsao3.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Taboo (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It’s Poe’s idea to start a weekly game night.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a sweet gesture, at first. When he proposes the idea, he tells her he saw how much she enjoyed playing games at Leia’s. She can’t believe he even noticed, really.</p><p> </p><p>He says a game night would give them something to look forward to every week—a special thing for them to do as a couple. But he dropped the little nugget that it will be the perfect way for her to get to know his friends better.</p><p> </p><p>Which is fair. She <em>should</em> probably get to know them better. They aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, and neither is she. And she <em>would </em>like some more friends in the city. She just wishes she didn’t find them so fucking annoying.</p><p> </p><p>Poe seems more excited about game night that she is. Which is surprising considering he doesn’t normally care for games that don’t involve a ball being whipped around. In the days leading up to it, he spends probably way too much money on alcohol and pizza. He cleans the entire house himself, and rearranges the furniture. He doesn’t stop talking about how happy he is to see his friends more often. And what a good bonding experience this will be for everyone.</p><p> </p><p>She can’t fault him for that too much. If Rose and Finn lived near them she’d want them over every week, too.</p><p> </p><p>His excitement has started to make her feel a little bad about being so negative about it in her head. So she decides to slap a smile on her face and give it a chance.</p><p> </p><p>And it isn’t too bad, really. Three other couples come—all are Poe’s military friends who live locally. Snap and his wife, Jess Pava and hers, and Yolo Ziff and his fiancee, all pile into their home. They can't stop talking about how excited to get away from their kids for a night.</p><p>They play a round of poker, which is then followed by a quick game of Go Fish. And Rey actually enjoys herself—but she contributes that to her winning both games. Though she couldn’t help but constantly compare this game night to the one she had a few weeks ago.</p><p> </p><p>After they finish playing, they all gather in the living room to sit around and talk. <em>That </em>is slightly less fun. There’s no winning in these conversations—it’s hard to get in a word at all. Poe’s friends are like slightly more extreme versions of him—loud, opinionated, and extroverted to an exhausting degree.</p><p> </p><p>Snap’s wife isn’t too bad. She and Rey have a good conversation about the plights of being a military wife, and why the food industry keeps pushing this "salted caramel" thing. Now, if only Rey could remember her name...She thinks maybe it’s Nadine. Or Natalie. But at this point, she’s too afraid to ask, and has taken to just calling her “babes.”</p><p> </p><p>After everyone goes home that night, Poe declares game night a huge success. He’s beaming— so proud of himself for having such a brilliant idea. He always seems so refreshed after being social. Something she really, <em>really</em> can’t relate to. But she’s happy to see him happy, and so she agrees to do another one the next week.</p><p> </p><p>And so as soon as Poe has another day off, they schedule the second game night. The excitement starts to wear off a little when it’s decided that will not be rotating houses and the gathering has to be at their house again. Everyone else declared that their places were too small. That Rey and Poe’s house was the most equidistant to everyone else’s place. It just makes more sense this way. And apparently Poe agreed, but didn’t tell Rey until the day beforehand.</p><p> </p><p>So, fine. It’s at their house again. It’s not a big deal. They have to foot the bill for the food and drinks again. They have to clean the whole house again. And Rey doesn’t complain. Again.</p><p> </p><p>She’s giving this a chance. She’s trying. She really is.</p><p> </p><p>But when all three of couples arrive with their children in tow, Rey thinks she may actually lose it.</p><p>Not so much because of the children—they’re fine. But because Poe told them all not to worry about getting a sitter.</p><p> </p><p>Not a single game gets played.</p><p> </p><p>She gives Poe a little silent treatment after everyone leaves. He knows he fucked up. He brings her some daisies the next morning before he begs her for one more try.</p><p> </p><p>And she relents because she wants this game night thing to work for some reason, too. She’s tired of being alone for days when Poe is working. She’s tired of wishing for Rose and Finn and…other people. Poe’s friends, obnoxious as they are, are safe. They’re good people. And Rey wants to be good, too.</p><p> </p><p>But the third game night really pushes her to the edge.</p><p> </p><p>The day before the gathering, Poe’s flight is delayed due to weather. And then it’s delayed even further the next morning. But he insists they don’t cancel. So she doesn’t, and gets everything ready without him.</p><p> </p><p>So after a brutal day at work, she comes home and prepares the house as best she can. She cleans and sets up the folding table in the living room. She puts a couple of frozen pizzas in the oven—which she only burns <em>a little</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, the snow stops early in the afternoon. The roads and runways are clear by the time evening hits, and Poe makes it home <em>just</em> in time to receive three cancellations. All three couples citing sick children.</p><p> </p><p>Rey and Poe don’t even clean up before they go to bed—both exhausted from their respective days. The burnt pizza and messy card table can be tomorrow’s problem.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry you set everything up for nothing,” her husband says as he tucks himself into the sheets of their bed.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine,” she mumbles, keeping her focus on the romcom she turned on earlier to relax. If she looks at him she might strangle him.</p><p> </p><p>“With the weather cleared, I thought it would work out. But I guess kids are unpredictable.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm,” she agrees, again, not looking away from the movie. It’s for his own good.</p><p> </p><p>“I was thinking,” he starts, and she sighs and pauses the movie before he can continue. “We need more friends without kids. <em>Or</em> maybe we should just have kids so we can use them as an excuse for everything, too.” He’s joking, or at least she hopes he is, but if there’s any suggestion in there, she needs to shut it down.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you definitely just need more friends without kids.”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, thank God, because she wasn’t in the mood to have <em>that </em>conversation tonight.</p><p> </p><p>“What about Solo and his wife?”</p><p> </p><p>Her heart flies into her chest at the very mention of his name. Ben Solo has spent the last few weeks running around the hallways of her mind, and she’s struggled to shove him back into the dark corners. If she lets him run loose in there, her sanity starts to slip.</p><p> </p><p>“What about them?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>“They don’t have kids. You think they’d want to join?”</p><p> </p><p>Rey tries to be very careful with how she answers. Because the idea of seeing Ben regularly—and playing games with him—makes her feel giddy. Like a school girl standing near her crush’s locker—hoping for just a glimpse of him. Just a glimpse would sustain her. But that giddiness is laden with guilt. And she isn’t sure it’s the best idea.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe,” she finally answers. “They are very busy, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s true. But they might enjoy the break.”</p><p> </p><p>“They would probably prefer to take a break laying on a beach in the Maldives. Not in Queens playing Monopoly with a bunch of strangers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ehhh, we’re more fun than the Maldives,” he jibes, poking her in the side.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs a little, and admonishes herself for how nervous it sounds. She fumbles for the remote and flips the movie back on to distract her. And to put an end to this conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“So what do you think?” He asks. “Should we invite them?”</p><p> </p><p>She bites her lip and stares at her fingers idly picking at the quilt. What <em>does</em> she think? Should she really allow this man into her life more than she already has? Can she sit and be cordial with the woman whose husband who has been the subject of her masturbatory fantasies for months? Can she be <em>friends </em>with them?</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she answers.</p><p> </p><p>Because she decides she can. She <em>can</em> do all of those things. And she <em>wants </em>to. So, so badly. She’ll allow herself this. She’ll allow herself new friends.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Even if these friends are a risk to her morals.</span></p><p> </p><p>“I’ll send Ben a text tomorrow morning, then.”</p><p> </p><p>And that’s how Ben Solo joins game night.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Ben wasn’t expecting to wake up to a text from Poe Dameron. But there it was, amidst numerous texts from colleagues and his mother.</p><p> </p><p>He shifts in the bed, towards his wife who is laying on her side, facing away from him. He’s not surprised she’s already awake, scrolling through the news on her phone.</p><p> </p><p>He clears his throat, and she turns her body towards him a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning,” she says, giving him a little smile before turning her head back to her phone.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning.”</p><p> </p><p>He sits back against his pillows for a moment, saying nothing. Just staring at the text. And tries not to think about why it’s so difficult for him to ask his wife about it. He feels a little like he’s a kid again. Like he’s back in the back seat of his mother’s car, hyping himself up to ask his mother to stop at McDonald’s when he knows damn well there’s food at home.</p><p> </p><p>“So…Dameron texted me,” he finally says, trying to sound as casual as possible, putting his phone down at his side.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Kay mumbles, still mindlessly scrolling.</p><p> </p><p>“He asked if we wanted to join his game night. Apparently he’s put together a group to play some board games once a week. They’ve been doing it for a few weeks and wanted more members.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” Kay mumbles against her pillow. “Sounds fun.”</p><p> </p><p>He tries to repress a grossly exuberant smile. He turns away from her, pulling his legs out of bed, and planting his feet firmly on the cold hardwood. As if to steady himself.</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he tests her. He like he’s almost trying to warn her against something. Like she doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to.</p><p> </p><p>“If it works with my schedule, I don’t see why not.”</p><p> </p><p>His heart doesn’t just leap. It fucking <em>soars. </em>His hand can’t grab his phone fast enough.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says evenly, pulling Dameron’s number up on his phone.</p><p> </p><p>He exchanges a few texts with Poe, and they land on the coming Saturday. Ben doesn’t work weekends, and Kaydel will have the evening off. She even offered to bring home some takeout from their favorite Chinese spot in the city.</p><p> </p><p>Ben offers to host the group at his brownstone—he says it’s the least he can do after Poe had him over for the Super Bowl. Ben hadn’t planned on going to the Dameron’s house that night. He had gone back and forth on his decision at least twenty times.</p><p><br/>And if he’s completely honest with himself, he didn’t go for the game. He really doesn't care about football or the whole fanfare of it all. He went to that party for her. Plain and simple. He went to confirm that they were on the same page. That there was an understanding that there is <em>something </em>between them.</p><p> </p><p>But after he ran into her in the bathroom, he thought that he <em>must </em>have been mistaken. She was…cold and unforgiving. At first he wasn’t sure what he did to deserve that. But then he replayed their last few encounters and worried that maybe he’d pushed it a little too much at his mother’s house. That he’d made her uncomfortable with the compliments and the handholding.</p><p> </p><p>He was going to just apologize and leave. He was going to end it there. For good. He’d live in shame and embarrassment for the rest of her life.</p><p> </p><p>But then the kid asked if anyone wanted to play him in ping pong. And maybe it’s because his parents were rarely around to do anything like that with him when he was a kid, but he just wasn’t able to tell him no.</p><p> </p><p>And then Rey came in. And she played with him. And he knew that he wasn’t mistaken. There is an understanding. She wants <em>something, </em>too. Her questioning, and his confession, was enough to solidify that.</p><p> </p><p>But what that <em>something</em> is, he doesn’t know. He just knows that now that he has her in his life again, he doesn't want to let her go. He wants to pull her closer and closer.</p><p> </p><p>Going to her place was playing with fire. He’s been playing with fire a lot lately. He knows he’s bound to get burnt sooner or later, but he's having an incredibly hard time resisting the heat.</p><p> </p><p>And so all he can do is to keep pushing it—to continue playing with that fire—until that <em>something</em> is more clear. And having her come over to his place, after he got to explore hers, seems like the best way to figure that out.</p><p> </p><p>Kay is a little annoyed that he’d volunteered their house without clearing it with her first. Normally if they host anything, it’s at Kay’s place in SoHo. The brownstone is a mess—it’s been a mess for pretty much as long as they’ve lived here. It’s clean—it’s definitely clean—it’s just half-done. But all of the important rooms are done, and no one needs to see anything else.</p><p> </p><p>He’s half-crazed with nervousness when the weekend arrives. He obsessively cleans and organizes. As he walks around the house he tries to imagine Rey doing it—tries to see his living space through her eyes. Tries to wonder what she would wonder.</p><p> </p><p>He had hoped she’d be the first to arrive. But she isn’t. She’s not the first, or the second, <em>or </em>the third. Strangers pile into his house—though he recognizes a few of the couples from Dameron’s Super Bowl party last month. He’s glad Kay is such a good socializer, because he’s quite sure he’s being incredibly aloof. He waits and waits—checking his watch every minutes—for the one person he really wants to see.</p><p> </p><p>And when she finally arrives, his nerves are finally able to relax. Well—only for a second. Because as soon as she walks in, his breath is stolen.</p><p> </p><p>She looks good. She always looks good, really. But tonight she looks…really good. She’s got on a tight, thin sweater, and a tight pair of blue jeans that do wonders for her pert ass. Her glossy hair is down and loosely curled—framing her glowing face. And she <em>is </em>glowing. She must be wearing some of that highlighter stuff that Kay uses sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>But what gets him the most—what completely robs him of his ability to breathe—is the smile on her face when she looks at him. It’s wide and toothy and shows off her dimples. And he feels like that smile was special—just for him. God, she’s fucking beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to see you again,” she says, her voice low, as she hands him her jacket.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for having us,” Poe says from behind her. They both seem to cringe at the sound of his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Not a problem,” Ben answers, tearing his eyes away from her. “Thanks for including us.”</p><p> </p><p>“The more the merrier!” He says, clapping Ben on the shoulder. “This is a damn fine place you have, Solo.” Poe’s eyes look around the foyer in wonder. He notices Rey surveying the house, too.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like a tour?” He asks, and it’s really only directed at Rey, at first. But he makes sure to glance at everyone else so it doesn’t seem weird.</p><p> </p><p>“Babe,” Kaydel says through gritted teeth. “I thought we weren’t doing that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” Poe interrupts, not reading the room. “You guys hiding a sex dungeon or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Ben says, humorlessly.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Two </em>sex dungeons?” The room laughs. God, Ben can’t fucking stand this guy.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing like that,” Kay laughs. “It’s just that most of the house is under renovation. It has been for years, actually. I keep telling Ben we should hire a guy, but he insists on doing it all himself.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh come on, Solo. You can afford to have someone do it for you with that fat NYU check.” Poe claps him on the shoulder again, and Ben has to physically restrain himself from picking the man up and throwing him back outside.</p><p> </p><p>“I think it's quite impressive to do things like this on your own. Then you can have it exactly the way you like,” Rey’s sweet British lilt says. God, it fills him with such warmth he could combust. He smiles at her, and sends her a little “thank you” nod.</p><p> </p><p>Kaydel, ever the perfect hostess, takes the lead for the “grand tour.” She’s got an oddly encyclopedic knowledge of this place. She really only leads everyone to the finished rooms: the kitchen, the bathrooms, the dining room. Ben stays back, walking next to Rey. Every time they pass a closed door, an unfinished project, he makes sure to tell her what his plans for it are.</p><p> </p><p>He loves the shy smiles and little compliments she gives him every time he talks. But he also doesn’t miss the cautious glances she throws at her husband and his wife in front of them. </p><p> </p><p>His wife walks right past their bedroom, citing it to be too much of an eyesore to show anyone. But Ben opens the door, and without even making a suggestion, Rey follows him through it.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not surprised to see the confusion on her face. The bedroom <em>is </em>an eyesore—Kaydel wasn’t lying. Sure, they had a nice bed with expensive sheets, and sleek furniture. But nearly all the furniture is pushed to the middle of the room. The flooring is a shot mahogany hardwood, and the walls are a hideous mix of layers of torn wallpaper and wood paneling and exposed brick. The last few owners of this place <em>really </em>did a number on it.</p><p> </p><p>“I want the whole room to be exposed brick. Except this wall here,” he says, gently adjusting her shoulders to face the wall in question. “That one I want to put up a thin drywall. Paint it white. Or green, maybe. Then I was thinking maybe get some new hardwood flooring. Nothing too dark. And some different furniture. Natural wood. And some plants. I don’t know. I just feel like it’s so dark in here. I don’t want it to feel so heavy.”</p><p> </p><p>She looks around wistfully, like she’s imagining it—what the room would look like.</p><p> </p><p>“I think it’s going to look beautiful, Ben,” she says, a small smile as she stares up at him.</p><p> </p><p>“I think so, too.”</p><p> </p><p>They stand in silence for a few more moments. A sense of heaviness falls between them. He notices her staring at his bed, and a slight panic starts to rise in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>He must make a noise without realizing it. Because she jumps a little. Startles. And when she looks back at him her eyes are round. Wide. Like she’s been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. </p><p> </p><p>“Should we go pick out a game?” he asks, already moving towards the door.</p><p> </p><p>She knits her brows, and nods and follows him out. There's a solemn little look plaguing her face as they head to his office.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t have tons of board games—most of them are still at his mothers. But he’s got a few sitting on the bookshelves he built, interspersed with movies and CD’s and books and all kinds of other paraphernalia. Kay hates this room because of how chaotic his shelves are. But he likes the way it looks. It's organized chaos--story of his life.</p><p> </p><p>Rey seems to like it, too. She scans the shelves like they’re a conundrum she has to solve. She talks about her favorite movies on the shelf, and asks to borrow some of the books. But her focus always returns to the games. She reaches out a couple of times, her fingers caressing a couple of boxes, but she doesn’t choose. A tease.</p><p> </p><p>Then she finally settles on one, and gently pulls out a blue box.</p><p> </p><p>She hides the game against her chest as she turns to him. The pursed smile on her face can only be described as wry. And maybe a little mischievous. She must have picked something she’s really good at. </p><p> </p><p>Someone down the hall calls for her, and she heads towards the door. She says nothing as she slips him the box on her way out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>He nearly chokes when he sees the title.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Taboo.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had to split this chapter into two parts because it got hella long. The second part is done—I just have to edit it. Should be up sometime this week (along with a Let it Linger update :)</p><p>As always, please forgive any mistakes.</p><p>You can find me on Tumblr @ Captaincabinetsao3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Taboo (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The game of Taboo is pretty simple.</p><p> </p><p>One person has to get their teammates to guess the secret word on their card. The catch is that there are forbidden words that they aren’t allowed to use when describing this secret word. And if they do accidentally say one of these words, another player—from the opposite team—gets to buzz them with an annoying little buzzer, and they must move on and try again until their allotted time is up. The team with the most correctly guessed words wins.</p><p> </p><p>Rey <em>loves </em>this game. Loves it. She loves finding creative ways to describe her word. She loves that look of recognition on her teammates faces. But most of all, she loves pressing that annoying little buzzer in her opponents ears when they mess up. She gets an incredibly fiendish delight from it.</p><p> </p><p>That’s why she chose the game. Definitely <em>not </em>because of the suggestive title. Definitely <em>not </em>to see the look on Ben’s face when she handed it to him.</p><p> </p><p>She’s been pushing it today, with the flirting. It wasn’t a conscious decision to flirt with him. It just happened the moment she walked through the door. She used to be really good at flirting—before she got married. The ability—the smiles and the looks and the compliments—came back to her easily. And maybe she’s a just a <em>little</em> rusty from the lack of practice—or because she knows that she shouldn’t be flirting in the first place—but Ben doesn’t seem to mind too much.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t seem to mind at all, actually. Really, he’s encouraging it with his secret whispers and smiles. He sits next to her at dinner—a huge assortment of Chinese food from some place in lower Manhattan—and recommends his favorite dishes to her. Throughout, he constantly checks to make sure she gets enough. Remnant feelings from when she was growing up with her mother—when she went to bed with an empty stomach—arise.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> She could cry at the gesture.</span></p><p> </p><p>And when they start the game, Ben tries to be on her team for Taboo, but Kaydel asks he be on her team since she doesn’t know how to play. And Poe wants to be with Rey because he said he wants to win. A wise decision on his part.</p><p> </p><p>It’s fine this way, though, really. Because when it’s Rey’s turn, Ben volunteers to be her watcher. He doesn’t get a chance to buzz her, though, because she is truly <em>very </em>good at this dumb game.</p><p> </p><p>And when it’s Ben’s turn, Rey gets to lean over his shoulder and buzz him. And buzz him she does.</p><p> </p><p>She thought maybe he would be halfway decent at this game—he’s decent at all the others she’s seen him play. She’s glad he’s not, though. Not just because she wants to win, but because he grins every time she obnoxiously presses that buzzer to his ear. And she likes that little dimple that forms when he does.</p><p> </p><p>When the last bit of sand has dropped from the little timer, and Ben’s turn is over, Rey looks around the room. Everyone is smiling and laughing, but she gets the briefest, oddest little look from Snap’s wife. One that makes her feel like she’s being shamed for doing something wrong. And when her eyes follow Mrs. Wexley's, she sees that maybe she has been.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand is on Ben's shoulder, not just resting there for balance, but squeezing it. Massaging it just the tiniest, tiniest bit. And, really, it did it all on it’s own, which is concerning in it’s own right. On his next turn, she’s careful not to touch him at all. He does much better that time.</p><p> </p><p>They get through the first round quite quickly, with Rey's team winning, despite Poe's poor performance. They decide to play a second round, since the night is still young. </p><p> </p><p>It's Poe's turn, and Rey is already frustrated with his lack of contribution to the team. Ben is his watcher, standing over her husband's chair with a stance that reminds her of a bouncer outside a club. </p><p> </p><p>“Mmmm,” mutters Poe, staring at his first card, wobbling it around between his fingers. “It’s big. A big place to live.”</p><p> </p><p>“A city?” Jess offers.</p><p> </p><p>“No, smaller than that.”</p><p> </p><p>“A house? Mansion?” Rey guesses.</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no. Think more magical.”</p><p> </p><p>“Disney World?” Jess’s wife—also called Jess, oddly enough—asks.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t live at Disney World,” Poe teases.</p><p> </p><p>“Will you just keep going!” Rey barks. She can’t stand the precious time wasting. This is only his first card!</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! You’re grandfather lives in one,” he says, excitedly. Rey blanches, jaw dropping a little. Everyone looks at her, then. A little confused, a little curious. She knows the answer. She knows where he was going with it now. She just wishes he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“A castle,” she says, though not with her usual gusto when she gets an answer right.</p><p> </p><p>“Bingo,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>He moves onto the next card, and then the next, and Rey doesn't contribute because her brain has seized all function. They only get three points at the end of Poe’s round. And then exactly what she didn’t want to happen, happens.</p><p> </p><p>“Does your grandpa <em>really </em>live in a castle or is he making a bad joke?” Jessika asks, staring at her wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>Rey has to take a deep breath. She was really, really hoping no one would pick up on that.</p><p> </p><p>“Well…it’s not technically a castle…” she answers, praying that the floor will swallow her whole so she doesn’t have to talk about this.</p><p> </p><p>“It sure looks like one, though!” Poe bellows. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to absolutely kill him.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait—you’re serious?” Jess asks, sitting up a little straighter.</p><p> </p><p>The atmosphere in the room shifts. Like a physical thing. Rey feels cold. Cold and empty like she did when she lived with that awful, horrid man.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm…yes…I mean—"</p><p> </p><p>“So you grew up rich?” Kaydel cuts her off, and Rey can’t help but be slightly offended by the abject surprise in the blonde’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>And when she looks around the room, she can see the others have expressions with a mix of surprise and curiosity on their faces. Including Ben.</p><p> </p><p>The fact that they are surprised isn’t exactly a surprise.</p><p> </p><p>Her past is a mystery to most people—just the way she likes it. Not even her own <em>husband </em>knows the whole truth of her childhood and teenage years. Finn and maybe Rose are the only people in the world who know. So she knows what these people around her must be thinking.</p><p> </p><p>“I did…and I didn’t,” Rey tries to answer, full well knowing Kaydel’s journalistic instincts won’t be satisfied with that.</p><p> </p><p>“What does that mean?” Kay presses, the humor slowly slipping for her voice.</p><p> </p><p>Something she’s noticed about Kay, through their brief interactions, is that she doesn’t care if she makes people uncomfortable. Kaydel Connix-Solo is always in pursuit of one thing: an interesting story. And Rey is sure that the British army wife living in America working as a mechanic in Queens—who may or may not have grown up in a <em>castle—</em>is certainly shaping up to be an interesting story.</p><p> </p><p>“Her grandpa is one of the wealthiest men in—“ Poe starts to answer for her. She knows he means well—he means to save her. But she doesn’t want him, too—doesn’t need him too. It’s no one’s business. So she cuts him off.</p><p> </p><p>“Poe,” Rey snaps. Spittle flies from her mouth with the sheer force of it. And her husband, thank God, shows some tact and shuts right up.</p><p> </p><p>Kaydel doesn’t relent, though. Ben says his wife’s name, tries to reel her back in, but it doesn’t work. She’s on the case, now.</p><p> </p><p>“So your grandfather is one of the wealthiest men in Britain?”</p><p> </p><p>“My grandfather has loads of money," Rey says, as evenly as she can.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> "But n</span>one of it was ever, or<em> will ever, </em>be mine,” </p><p> </p><p>The room devolves into an intensely uncomfortable silence. Every eye on her feels like a needle stabbing a hole into her lungs. She has to get the fuck out of here.</p><p> </p><p>“If you’ll excuse me,” she says, pushing herself out of her chair.</p><p> </p><p>Whispers follow her through the corridor.</p><p> </p><p>She finds her way into the Solo’s kitchen. She doesn’t know why, but she immediately goes to the fridge. Not because she wants anything to eat—she’s very full from the Chinese food—but because she wants to see what’s inside.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> It's been a personal philosophy of her's that one</span> can tell a lot about a person from what’s in their refrigerator.</p><p> </p><p>The first thing she’s notices is that it’s full. Every shelf has something on it. All of the typical items are there: Eggs, milk, veggies. There are stacks of labeled plastic containers filled with leftovers. The fridge is neat and organized. But hidden behind some of those stacks is a plastic bakery container with what looks to be half a mutilated chocolate cake inside.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if Kaydel has a sweet tooth. Or if they sit at their kitchen table and poke at it together while conversing about their day. For some reason, that mental image upsets. So she shoves the cake back and closes the fridge.</p><p> </p><p>She immediately senses someone behind her.</p><p> </p><p>She’s a little disappointed, at first, that when she turns around it isn’t her husband standing there—the one person who should definitely be following her to make sure she’s okay when she storms out of a room.</p><p> </p><p>The disappointment lingers, but is overshadowed by her elation to see Ben standing there. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he seems to just be waiting for something.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose he’s in there spreading all my business, then?” She says after a beat.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, not quite,” Ben says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He actually told everyone you were on your period.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey rolls her eyes, and folds her arms across her chest. She has to look away from him—has to focus on a cabinet in the corner of the room—to keep herself from crying.</p><p> </p><p>“Is everything okay?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>She hates that question. Hates it, hates it, hates it.</p><p> </p><p>And she hates how she wants to tell him <em>everything.</em> She hates how it would still be inappropriate for her to do that. He’s still a stranger, really. But something about him just makes her feel so bare. Even when they first met—even when she was drunk and stupid—she felt completely naked.</p><p> </p><p>But safe. So safe.</p><p> </p><p>“I just don’t like talking about him—my grandfather. He isn’t a good man.”</p><p> </p><p>“I understand. More than you know,” he says, commiserating. “You don’t have to talk about it, Rey. I won’t make you.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods, and tears her eyes from the cabinet to look at him. He’s stepped a bit closer. She didn't notice that.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t mean to make things weird in there. I ruined the game.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t,” he says, his voice soothing, reassuring.</p><p> </p><p>He gets closer, still. His approach is careful, almost methodical, like approaching a wild animal he's about to kill. It’s not salacious. It’s not dirty. It’s just like he’s a man possessed. Or a magnet—needing to find a surface to stick to. And apparently she's that surface.</p><p> </p><p>She ends up backing into the counter, her hands bracing themselves on the edge of the cool marble. She has to physically ground herself, keep herself steady, at the sight of his eyes--his blown out pupils.</p><p> </p><p>His hips are nearly flush with hers—just a few inches between them. His grips the marble next to her hands. Seconds pass, and they inch their way over to rest on against hers. As soon as their skin touches, they grasp onto each other, lacing their fingers together. He tenderly strokes her knuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Why did you follow me in here, Ben?” She asks, voice rough. He presses his lips together, his casual demeanor slipping just the slightest bit.</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“But why?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re…friends.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that what we are?” <em>Bold,</em> she thinks. She’s being very bold. And he’s a little taken aback by it—his eyebrows raise and he has to adjust his shoulders and neck—but he recovers quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t it?” Very clever of him to dodge the question. Or maybe it's just smart of him to keep things unsaid. Open.</p><p> </p><p>“Do friends do this?” She asks, pulling their clasped hands up to his eye line. He smiles at their interlocked fingers, and works his wrist—flipping their hands around as if innocently saying <em>huh, what’s this doing here?</em></p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know. I’ve never really had any friends. Do you hold hands with Finn?” There’s no accusation there, only a bit of cheekiness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He's got a tiny smirk and just the slightest raise in his brow.</span></p><p> </p><p>“No. Not for lack of his trying, though.” Finn was very touchy-feely when they first met. He was <em>always</em> trying to hug or hold hands. It was hard for her to get used to.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Ben huffs a little laugh, his eyes still studying their hands. “I guess we aren’t friends, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Her stomach is doing gymnastics. Flips, twirls, and spins inside her body. </p><p> </p><p>“Then…what are we?”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you want to be, Rey.” His eyes continue to bore into hers. She can almost feel him staring into her wicked, wicked soul.</p><p> </p><p>“What if I don’t know yet?” she asks. Because she truly doesn't know yet. She has ideas. And wants. And hopes. And...<em>needs.</em> But she has had those things before and has crushed them for the sake of self-preservation. And she doesn't want to crush Ben along with her. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”</p><p> </p><p>He pulls her hands up to his face and kisses her knuckles. Like he did a few weeks ago. Like he did seven years ago. And her heart feels like it’s going into overdrive—the beat uneven and erratic.</p><p> </p><p>She pushes herself up on her tiptoes and rests her lips on his cheek—very near the spot where she first kissed him. It’s just a quick kiss. Just a swift peck on his stubbly cheek.</p><p> </p><p>When she goes flat on her feet again, she’s proud at how aflame his face is. She did that. He shakes his head at her, like she’s a wonder. Like he can’t believe she did that. She can’t believe she did it either.</p><p> </p><p>And she’d like to do more, really. But it doesn’t feel right. Not yet. It’s all she can offer him. For now.</p><p> </p><p>The floor creaks somewhere down the hall. A door closes. Voices start to break through the void they’ve conjured in this kitchen. And maybe they should have separated from each other’s embrace quicker—maybe should be more panicked by the noise, but they don’t and they aren’t. They stand there for a few moments longer before their hands slowly untwine from each other.</p><p><br/>
His eyes don’t leave hers as he backs away. There’s so much unsaid there. So much that has to stay unsaid. Especially for the time being. </p><p> </p><p>They make a silent agreement to leave the room separately. He goes first, and she’s left standing in the kitchen a little shell shocked. She raises her hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever. She’s sure she must have one. Because what the fuck just happened. Why she let it happen? And why she’s definitely going to let it happen again?</p><p> </p><p>Has she truly lost her mind?</p><p> </p><p>Or is she just now finding it again?</p><p> </p><p>She can’t look at him when she returns to the living room. And no one can really look at her, either.</p><p> </p><p>They never finish the game of Taboo. Everyone seems to just forget about it. They talk for a little while longer, before they all get ready to leave.</p><p> </p><p>They gather in Ben’s beautiful hallway. The host and hostess hand everyone’s coats back. Everyone says their thank you’s and goodbyes, and short, last minute conversations commence.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes trail back to the man, and she finds herself inching towards him.</p><p> </p><p>A private moment in a crowded hallway. His beautiful hallway. In his beautiful house. </p><p> </p><p>“See you next week?” He says.</p><p> </p><p>To everyone else, this is just a polite, normal thing to say. Everyone had agreed to do this again next weekend. Everyone agreed this was an incredible night.</p><p> </p><p>But the question says a lot more to her. There’s a suggestion there. A promise. A hope.</p><p> </p><p>“See you next week,” she says, confirming his suggestion. His promise. His hope.</p><p> </p><p>He just smiles and nods.</p><p> </p><p>As they drive home, Poe profusely apologizes for mentioning her grandfather.</p><p> </p><p>"I fucked up," he admits. "I made a mistake. Please, please forgive me."</p><p> </p><p>And she does.</p><p> </p><p>She would be a hypocrite, if she didn't.</p><p> </p><p>Because, deep down, she knows she’s about to do something a lot worse.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The slow burn is almost over, folks, I promise. (The angst on the other hand...)</p><p>And for those of you wondering: did she change the fic description again? The answer is yes. I DO WHAT I WANT. And also...I just really liked that scene and wanted to use it. Let me live.</p><p>Also, a quick shout out to the sweet Vanilla_villain37 for making a lovely playlist for this story. If I knew how to hyperlink, I'd do it, but I don’t 😓You all can find it in the comments of the last chapter if you're interested :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They share small moments over the next few weeks.</p><p> </p><p>Because small moments are all they can manage.</p><p> </p><p>When Snap and Nadine host their first game night, the group is forced to sit on the floor, circled around a low coffee table. He ends up sitting next to her, uncomfortably squeezed between the table and the couch. But he doesn’t complain, nor does he accept his wife’s offer to switch places to the other side of the table.</p><p> </p><p>Their hands, both resting on the carpet, slowly inch over to each other during the course of the evening. Pinkies touch. Then palms. Then fingers are threaded together.</p><p> </p><p>Above, their faces give nothing away.</p><p> </p><p>The week after that they are at Rey’s house again. She gets up to go to the bathroom after they’ve finished their game of Catan. He waits a little before he decides he has to go himself.</p><p> </p><p>They, quite literally, run into each other in the hallway, where she pulls him into a hug. They’re out in the open, and anyone could come by at any second, so they don’t stay for too long. But it’s not without feeling. It’s like she’s trying to tell him something. She buries her head in his chest and threads her arms under his and grips his shoulders tightly.</p><p> </p><p>It seems like there’s a desperation in her hug, and he wonders if something happened. Sometimes he forgets how much he doesn’t know about her an her home life. The only time they ever talk is during these game nights, and that doesn’t reveal much. So he tries to comfort her. He keep this arms are circled around her shoulders, and his fingers trace lazy circles onto her back. Then, without warning, she untwines from him, and spins on her heel, and heads back to the group without looking back at him.</p><p> </p><p>She’s such a good actress, because her face reveals absolutely nothing when he goes back. She’s smiling and friendly as she usually is. He can’t help but wonder how often she wears this mask—if she wears one around him when it’s just the two of them. Or maybe he’s the only one to see her without it on. It eats at him that he doesn’t know. That he can’t talk to her outside of the Game Night parameters.</p><p> </p><p>So small moments, small moves are all they can manage.</p><p>He’ll take all the small moments he gets.</p><p> </p><p>And wait for Rey to decide she wants a big moment, a big move.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“I hate game night,” Leia declares upon Ben’s arrival at her house.</p><p> </p><p>She’s invited him over for dinner for the past few weekends, but he’s been unable to attend. Game night has taken up most of his free time, and he spends the rest of his very little free time trying to catch up on renovating the house. But his mother caught on, and so she switched gears and invited him on a Wednesday night, using every guilt tactic in the book to get him to come over.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, ma. I only get a couple days off. And it’s been…fun.” Fun is an understatement of what the game nights have been, really.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, whatever,” she says, waving him off, leading him straight to the dining room. Charles is in there, setting an immaculate table piled with food. Complete overkill for two people.</p><p> </p><p>“Master Ben!” Charles exclaims upon their entry. “I’ve prepared your favorite! Roast chicken. It’s turned out quite spectacular this time if I do say so myself. You see, I marinated…”</p><p> </p><p>Charles goes on to share every second of his cooking process with Ben. He knows the life of everything on the table by the time he’s done. He makes a swift exit, leaving Ben and his mother in silence, nothing put dinnerware clicking against fine bone China.</p><p> </p><p>“No Kaydel this week?” Leia asks, as sly as a goddamn elephant. He knows where this is leading.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s in Toronto. Just for tonight. She’ll be back tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” his mother says, jabbing a thick slice of chicken and dunking it into the pool of gravy on her plate.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” she responds in a sing-songy voice, though he clearly knows it’s not nothing. She’s very much got <em>something</em> on her mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Really, ma. What? You always do this when we talk about her. I thought you liked her.”</p><p> </p><p>“I did like her!” Leia protests, her face blanching a little when she realizes her mistake. “I <em>do </em>like her.” She corrects.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re just sour because she won’t give you grandchildren,” he argues, trying not to sound too accusatory.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not it at all! You know I respect a woman’s right to choose. Though, I would like to point out I am certainly not getting any younger, and I don’t exactly have any other children to pin my grandmotherly aspirations onto.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, then whats with the passive aggression?”</p><p> </p><p>His mother sets her fork and knife down gently on the plate, and Ben starts to get a sinking feeling that she’s about to get emotional.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you happy, Ben?” She asks softly.</p><p> </p><p>The question perturbs him.</p><p> </p><p>“Why would you ask that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just answer the question.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” he says, pulling his focus onto the mashed potatoes on his plate.</p><p> </p><p>“Being <em>fine</em> and being <em>happy</em> are not the same thing, son. I know you’re<em> fine.</em> You’ve got money and a great job, and an <em>incredible </em>mother. But are you <em>happy?”</em></p><p> </p><p>All of Ben’s nervous ticks come out to play. The working of his jaw. The twitching of his eye. The mashing of his lips. And he knows his mother is sitting across that table, catching it all. Scrutinizing it. Attaching meaning to it.</p><p> </p><p>Is he happy? He’s not <em>unhappy.</em> He’s certain of that. There are parts of his life that could be better. There are parts of his life that could be much, much worse. But isn’t that true for everyone?</p><p> </p><p>He’s definitely felt licks of pure happiness lately. In a way he hasn’t in a long, long time. Once a week. And that happiness scares him.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. Because would a truly happy person be having the thoughts he has? Would a truly happy person do something as awful as try to disrupt not only their own relationship, but someone else’s too?</p><p> </p><p>Leia does another little hum, and leans back a little in her chair.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like that answer,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you trying to imply that Kaydel is the source of my unhappiness?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. Kaydel is a great girl. Truly one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever met. She’s just not the kind of girl I pictured you with.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what type of girl were you picturing me with? Kay is educated. From a good family. You’re friends with her parents. She’s everything you wanted for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Those are all good qualities, and I was thrilled when you two started dating, don’t get me wrong. She’s exactly who<em> I </em>would have chosen for you. But she's not who I thought <em>you </em>would choose. I just always pictured you with someone a bit more…I don’t know. Wild? Passionate?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kaydel is passionate about a lot of things. Her humanitarian work. Her job.”</p><p> </p><p>“But is she passionate about <em>you?”</em></p><p> </p><p>That takes him aback a little, and he can’t seem to find a good answer. He can’t find an answer at all, really.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so much like your father, Ben. You put on a cool front, but I know you’re longing to be taken care of. You want to be loved intensely and without limits.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you think she can’t do that for me?”</p><p> </p><p>Leia sighs deeply.</p><p> </p><p>“When I look at you, I see your father. And when I look at her…I—I see me. I couldn’t always love your father the way he wanted—the way he <em>needed—</em>to be loved. And he couldn’t always do the same for me. I put my work first. Even with you…when you were a child, I couldn’t see past my own—“ his mother chokes on her words, a sob shaking her shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“Ma,” he says gently. He doesn’t want to see her cry. He doesn’t want to see how racked with guilt she is about neglecting him during his childhood. It’s in the past, and there’s no use resurfacing it now.</p><p> </p><p>Leia sits up straight and waves him off.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t mind me,” she says, sniffling a little. She pulls her face together, back to that cool diplomatic indifference. “I just worry about you. I don’t want you to end up like…like us.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t, ma,” he says, though he’s not so sure.</p><p> </p><p>They fall back into silence. More chewing and clicking and scraping of plates.</p><p> </p><p>“Game night has made me happy,” Ben says, interrupting the silence. He doesn’t know why he felt the need to tell her this, but it’s true.</p><p> </p><p>His mother sighs deeply.</p><p> </p><p>“Then maybe I don’t hate it so much,” she says, passing him a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He feels the need to start a new project when he gets home. None of his current projects are really striking his fancy.</p><p> </p><p>Since Kay is away for the night, he decides to start peeling the tacky golden wallpaper off the walls of one of the upstairs bathrooms. She can’t stand when he starts a DIY late at night because the noise keeps her up, so he tries to take advantage of her nights away.</p><p> </p><p>As he scrapes at the wall, he thinks about what his mother said at dinner. Her words, their conversation, runs through his head, and he tries to come up with the right answers.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t think he was the kind of guy that needed passion. After a tumultuous adolescence, he thought all he needed was contentedness. Calmness. He thought that passion would only lead him to anger again, and so he avoided it.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not…<em>not </em>passionate about Kaydel. He knows he definitely felt something akin to passion when they first started dating. Bazine was so intense, so passionate that it caused nothing but strife at the end of their relationship. Passion fades. It’s unreliable to build a relationship upon. And Kay is reliable. Trustworthy. That was what he felt was important to him at the time.</p><p> </p><p>But lately, he’s known passion again. He’s known it in the form of a tall brunette with hazel eyes and freckles. He knows he’s been pushing it with her. With their secret hugs and intimate touches, and the <em>looks. </em>The looks she gives him are really what got his head fried. He feels like he knows everything about her, but sometimes she looks at him and it reminds him she’s a complete mystery. And it’s equal parts exciting and frightening.</p><p> </p><p>Leia’s confessions about his father rattle him a little, too. People always told him he has his father’s heart, but he never knew if that was a good thing or not.</p><p> </p><p>Ben’s long suspected his father cheated on his mother. His parents would often take breaks from their marriage, some of them lasting years, but they never fully divorced. During those breaks, Han would sometimes disappear. He wouldn’t usually go far, opting to live in the apartment above the garage in Queens.</p><p> </p><p>When he was around eight or nine, he had fought with his mom, and wanted to see his father so bad. So he took public transport all by himself to the apartment. He walked in to find some blue-eyed brunette woman making him dinner. Han said she was just a friend and quickly ushered him out, pushing him into a cab and sending him straight back home.</p><p> </p><p>Ben was sick about it for weeks. He thought he should tell his mother about it, but he didn’t want to upset her. She was too busy to be upset. He didn’t have really any friends to confide in, either. He didn’t know exactly what was going on—he was too young to fully comprehend—and he kept making up excuses for his father. But he knew in his gut that something was wrong there. That that woman wasn’t just a friend.</p><p> </p><p>But with Rey, his gut isn’t telling him he’s wrong. His brain is. His logical, analytical brain lists all the reasons it’s wrong, but his gut keeps telling him to keep going.<em> This is right,</em> it says. <em>She is right.</em></p><p> </p><p>Ben’s tried so hard to be head over heart. He’s tried to leave passion out of his life. But maybe he’s been without it for so long that he’s having such a hard time resisting Rey.</p><p> </p><p>As he chips away at the wall, Leia’s question keeps echoing through his head.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is he happy?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is he happy?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is he happy?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p>Ben’s Tuesday/Thursday 11:00 English Literature class is the most packed of all of his classes. Mostly because it’s a requirement for almost every liberal arts major at NYU.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t bother to take attendance, or require his students to sit in assigned seats. It’s a huge auditorium, and that would take too much time.</p><p> </p><p>Whoever shows up, shows up. Whoever listens, listens. Whoever doesn’t will have wasted their money. Luckily this groups is pretty active, and engages in discussion quite often.</p><p> </p><p>This week, they are discussing Mary Wollstonecraft and Frankenstein, one of his favorites. The usual suspects debate him about her personal life and how that impacted her work. Others only want to discuss her contributions to the science fiction genre. He finishes the class by assigning a reading, and taking any final questions. A few raise their hands to get in final points.</p><p> </p><p>The last hand he calls on is way up at the top of the auditorium. He can barely see her face as its hidden by an NYU baseball cap, but when she speaks he knows who it is immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“What do <em>you</em> think about Captain Walton’s motives, sir? Why would he embark on such a dangerous endeavor?”</p><p> </p><p>As the other students shift and turn to look at her, her face comes into view, and Ben’s mouth has run dry as bone.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh—I think that’s a great question, but we’ve run out of time. Let’s save that for next week. You can all go.”</p><p> </p><p>She stays seated as the other students pack up and exit. She stares down at him with a little smirk on her face. Like she’s a goddess, and he’s a peasant waiting for her judgement.</p><p> </p><p>And he stares back and wonders if she’s finally made her big move.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Soooo...sorry it's taken me like a month and a half to update this story. I wanted to finish my other WIP before I continued on this one (that one will be finished in a couple of hours for anyone following that one too). This is my favorite one to write, and it was taking up a lot of my writing time, which I felt wasn't fair to my other story. I also got my job back! My hours are cut in half with almost the same amount of work so it's been killing me a little. It's just been hectic. </p><p>But I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It didn't initially exist, but I wrote the next few chapters and it felt like there was something missing, so I wrote this to fill in the gaps a little. The good shit will start next chapter (which will hopefully be up by next Monday...it's my favorite so far).</p><p>Thank you all for your continued support. I love reading your comments so much. Hopefully we'll have more consistent, weekly updates from here on out &lt;3</p><p>You can find me @ CaptainCabinetsao3.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Risk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She doesn’t know what she’s doing.</p><p> </p><p>Well…she <em>does </em>in a literal sense. She’s on the F, barreling towards the city in a rickety train car.</p><p> </p><p>But <em>why</em> she’s on the train is what she’s questioning.</p><p> </p><p>Two days ago, Poe came home with his tail between his legs. He skirted around her for hours before he fessing up at the dinner table.</p><p> </p><p>He took an extra shift, and would be leaving for California tomorrow morning. Normally, she wouldn’t mind that at all. She likes having the house to herself most of the time. But this shift happens to fall on her birthday.</p><p> </p><p>She never thought she’d be one to care about her birthday—especially as an adult. But it was always the most special day when she grew up with her mother. She got extra attention from her, and a homemade chocolate cake. Gifts were sparse, but Rey didn’t mind. She just wanted to spend time with her mother.</p><p> </p><p>As a teenager, she always had Finn, who went above and beyond to make sure she had a good time. And when Rose came into the picture, they really doubled down on the celebrations. After she married Poe, he was usually so good about planning a trip or nice dinner.</p><p> </p><p>Birthday’s have just always felt so hopeful to her. Like a fresh start. But she wouldn’t get that this year because Poe<em> forgot </em>it was her birthday and took someone else’s shift.</p><p> </p><p>He was apologetic—overly so—and promised he’d plan something extra special for when he returns. He’ll be back the next day. They can do something then, he promised.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t have it in her to fight with him. Nor did she have it in her to cry or be pissed or feel much of anything. But the second he left their bed this morning, her anger started to brew. She tossed and turned and tried to figure out what to do with her day.</p><p> </p><p>She just didn’t want to be bored and lonely. And she thought and thought about how she could amend that. She first called Chewie and asked if she could just come into work. He refused to let her, despite her begging. He knew it was her birthday, and told her to enjoy her day before hanging up.</p><p> </p><p>She then Skyped Finn and Rose in Vietnam, who kindly talked to her for a solid hour before she had to let them go to bed. They were upset to hear Poe wasn’t there, and spent the entire call trying to entertain her, and Googled fun places in New York for her to go so she didn’t have to be alone. Finn sent her link after link of pop up bars, clubs, and coffee shops that he thought she might like. There’s one suggestion in particular that stood out to her, and it watered the tiny, poisonous seed that was already growing in her head.</p><p> </p><p>After her talk with Finn and Rose, she called the only other person she really considered a friend: Leia. Bless her, the woman was busy as hell with some new bill, so she couldn’t meet for lunch, but she still talked to Rey for a half hour.</p><p> </p><p>And then she was alone again. She feels old. She’s only just turned twenty-six but she feels at least twice that as she sits in her silent house. She wonders if it's normal for someone as young as her to feel this way—so worn down by life.</p><p> </p><p>She tried to shake her negative thoughts by cleaning the house, but got distracted with an old water color kit she found stuffed in a drawer, and decided to try to paint. When it turned out like shit, she threw that away and sat on the couch. She grabbed her phone and looked up places to eat, hoping to order something good to-go.</p><p> </p><p>But instead of looking up where she can get a decent steak dinner, her fingers, all on their own, googled New York University. She perused the site for a few minutes before going to the directory and casually scrolling through the staff list. When she found a familiar name, she stopped. An clicked. And read.</p><p> </p><p>After that, her body operated outside of her consciousness, as if to make sure she couldn’t stop herself.</p><p> </p><p>She got dressed in her favorite outfit: a white t-shirt, and a pair of high-waisted blue jeans, and then slipped on her black, oversized parka and bag and then headed to the station.</p><p> </p><p>So why did she get on the train? Why does she then get on the subway? Why does she walk to NYU?</p><p> </p><p>She tells herself it's just because she doesn’t want to be alone on her birthday.</p><p> </p><p>Plain and simple. Nothing more than that.</p><p> </p><p>And if she’s being really honest with herself, after Poe left this morning, only one person came to mind. The one person she wanted to see on this day. Which isn’t unusual. Her thoughts usually stray in his direction to some extent on her birthdays. </p><p> </p><p>The campus is huge, and sprawled across multiple buildings on multiple blocks of Manhattan. She thinks she knows where she’s going, but she doesn’t want to be early. So she moseys. She saunters down Broadway, and decides to stop in the school bookstore.</p><p> </p><p>She buys a new notebook a baseball cap, and a grey sweatshirt with NYU across the front in blue lettering. Birthday presents to herself, she justifies. She slips the cap and sweatshirt on in the bathroom, hoping she’ll blend in with the other students. Maybe she can get a small semblance of the college experience today.</p><p> </p><p>She moseys around a bit longer until 10:45 hits, and she books it down the block to the auditorium. She slides right in with the hoard of other students. He’s must be quite a popular professor. That doesn’t surprise her. She takes a seat near the back, and pulls out her new notebook and pens, hoping to just blend right in.</p><p> </p><p>Her stupid heart skips a beat when he walks in at 11:00 exactly. He looks good. He always looks good, really. But she’s used to seeing the casual Ben who wears sweaters or t-shirts and jeans to game night. But this is <em>Professor</em> Solo—no—<em>Doctor </em>Solo, and he’s in a stark white button-up that strains just the <em>slightest</em> bit against his shoulders and arms, and a pair of perfectly fitted black slacks.</p><p> </p><p>A girl in front of her jabs her friend in the side and whispers “your boyfriend’s here.” Her friend jabs her back and tells her to shut up, face gone completely red, but they both giggle. It makes Rey let out a small laugh, too. Of course these undergrads would lust after him. So cliche. She can’t blame them, though.</p><p> </p><p>She never attended university, but she can tell he’s a good professor. He’s engaging. He lets his students talk and discuss and take the lead, but he takes charge when he needs to.</p><p> </p><p>She likes seeing him take charge. It triggers something ancient and primal within her. And there’s something fascinating about watching him enrapture his class. When he talks, everyone listens. He’s magnetic, that way. She wonders if he realizes it, or if he’s just used to it by now.</p><p> </p><p>As the end of class nears, she almost chickens out. He hasn’t noticed her. She could slip out and he would never know she was here. It will be like this never happened. Like she never took the risk. But when he opens the class up for final questions, she can’t help but raise her hand.</p><p> </p><p>The look on his face when he finally sees her is something precious to her. It’s the knitted brows of disbelief mixed with the wide smile of delight.</p><p> </p><p>It’s like a spotlight is put on her then, and he can’t look away. Their eyes are stuck to each other until the auditorium clears out.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t remember you being on my class roster,” he finally says, voice echoing across the empty hall.</p><p> </p><p>“Look again, I’m there,” she says with a little laugh.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs too, and she grabs her things and slowly steps down the stairs, still holding his gaze, still matching his smile.</p><p> </p><p>When she finally reaches him, she stands right in front of him, clutching her jacket and hobo bag in front of her almost like a protective shield. He steps back a little, folding his arms across his chest, and looks her up and down as if confirming she’s real, and a wisp of a laugh leaves his nose. He shakes his head, and she wonders what sorts of thoughts he’s rattling around in there.</p><p> </p><p>“So what are you doing here?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, uh…” She doesn’t quite know how to answer that. Because she doesn’t know why she came here. He doesn’t look mad that she’s here—he mostly just looks curious, maybe in a bit of a state of wonderment. She just hoped that he’d be so deliriously happy to see her that he wouldn’t question it. And she wouldn’t have to admit anything to him or herself. She must wear her thoughts on her face, because he tries to clarify.</p><p> </p><p>“Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” he says. “I’m just…surprised.”</p><p> </p><p>“I—you—you invited me. A few months ago. When we were at Leia’s.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just didn’t think you’d take me up on it…You didn’t seem interested.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” she says, lowly. “Interested, that is.”</p><p> </p><p>He smiles, but then looks away from her and starts to bite and tongue his cheek as if to suppress it. It’s cute. It makes her smile too.</p><p> </p><p>“It was a good class,” she adds, diverting the subject away from potentially dangerous territory.</p><p> </p><p>“So you’ve read Frankenstein?”</p><p> </p><p>“I grew up in England, <em>of course</em> I’ve read Frankenstein.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, right, of course,” he smiles.</p><p> </p><p>She has to look away from him. From his smile. Because she feels like it might burn right through her. Her eyes dart around the huge, empty auditorium, to the walls, to her feet, and she wonders <em>what now?</em></p><p> </p><p>She’s come here. She’s sat in on the class. But she didn’t really think past that.</p><p> </p><p>She just stares at her shoes, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, and wills him to speak first. And thank God he does.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to get coffee or something? The school cafe isn’t too bad. Or there’s a Starbucks right across the street.”</p><p> </p><p>She bites the corners of her mouth to stop the cheshire smile fighting to show itself on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” she says, nodding, finally chancing a glance at him. He’s smiling down at her, the tops of his cheeks tinted with the slightest bit of red.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he repeats, giving a curt nod. “Which would you prefer?”</p><p><br/>“Honestly? I think Starbucks coffee tastes like burnt hair.”</p><p> </p><p>He cringes, but laughs. “The school cafe it is then.”</p><p> </p><p>And so they walk. And walk and walk. It’s a long way to the school cafe. He keeps the conversation casual, asking about her day, and she asks about his. He talks about the school and the city as they walk, pointing out statues and streets that have some sort of significance. He takes on that professor tone. He’s knowledgable without being condescending, and that’s so rare—especially for a man. A dangerous voice in her head tells her to grab his hand as they walk, but she ignores it.  </p><p> </p><p>The cafe is crowded when they arrive—packed with studious academics and frazzled undergrads furiously tapping away at their laptops.</p><p> </p><p>Ben finds them a small table near a window, and cleans off the trash left by its former occupants. He chivalrously pulls a chair out of her, and then slinks his black bomber jacket over the other one. He asks what she’d like—to which she replies just a regular black coffee with a bit of cream—and he disappears into wave of students.</p><p> </p><p>As she sits at the table alone, she starts to freak out a bit. She’s alone with him. She’s never <em>really </em>been alone with him. Well, except for the night they first met after she chased him down by the Bodleian. But after that, there’s always been someone else around. A referee of sorts. Leia. Snap. Jess. The other Jess. Someone to always watch them to make sure they aren’t doing something wrong. And while they are currently in a crowded cafe, Rey feels like they’re completely alone. Completely without a ref.</p><p> </p><p>She jumps out of her thoughts when he sets her coffee down in front of her, and slides into his seat. He holds his coffee in his hand, and gazes out the window, maybe lost in his own thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>He looks a bit nervous, now. She thinks she probably does, too. Maybe he’s had the same thoughts she’s had. Maybe he’s regretting bringing her here. Maybe he wishes she would have never come. Or maybe she’s just paranoid.</p><p> </p><p>She mindlessly brings the coffee to her lips, and squeaks a bit when the heat of it burns her tongue. She sets it down and wipes her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“I should’ve warned you that it was hot—“ he begins to say, a tinge of panic in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she waves away his worry. “I should’ve known.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” he says anyway.</p><p> </p><p>She tries another sip, this time blowing on it a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Does it taste better than burnt hair?” There’s a smile on his face again, and she’s relieved to see it.</p><p> </p><p>“Much,” she says. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he says. “I agree with you, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>“About what?”</p><p> </p><p>“That Starbucks tastes like burnt hair. I’ve never put it into those words, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s completely overrated.”</p><p> </p><p>“Their cake pops are good, though,” he muses. And that surprises her—it elicits a little giggle out of her, that makes his cheeks go red again. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “I just didn’t peg you as the kind of guy who has a sweet tooth.” She thinks about that half-eaten cake hidden in the back of his fridge and wonders now, if that was all his.</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of man do you peg me as, then?” He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.</p><p> </p><p>She has to answer carefully. She’s thought about what kind of man he is a lot. Sometimes she feels like she knows. But sometimes she feels like she’s completely lost when it comes to him. He’s someone who wants to please other people and do the right thing. But sometimes she sees a different side of him. A more dangerous, even volatile side. But she knows one thing about him to be true.</p><p> </p><p>“A good man,” she says, serious. “Or a man who tries to be good, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>He looks taken aback by her answer.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t feel that way, sometimes,” he says, gone serious too.</p><p> </p><p>“I think we’re the worst versions of ourselves in our heads.”</p><p> </p><p>She knows that’s true for her. The Rey in her head wishes for things she shouldn’t—<em>does </em>things that she shouldn’t. But she’s kept her under control, kept these bad things entirely in her dream-world. She doesn’t say those things out loud. She doesn’t do those things in person. Or at least…she didn’t. Coming here might have been the first time she’s given into the Rey in her head.</p><p> </p><p>“But which do you think is the more authentic version of ourselves?” he asks, fingers drumming on the table. “The internal you or the external you? The mind that thinks one thing or the voice that ultimately says another?”</p><p> </p><p>A frightening question. One Rey isn’t ready to answer, because she doesn’t think she has one.</p><p> </p><p>“You should be a philosophy teacher,” she says instead.</p><p> </p><p>He looks disappointed that she didn’t answer the question, but only for a second. He leans back in his chair and smirks at her. Then he laughs a little, shakes his head, and takes another sip of his coffee.</p><p> </p><p>They fall back into silence. And it’s painful because she wants to talk to him. That’s all she ever seems to want lately—to talk to him, to see him, to be near him—and she doesn’t want this to end.</p><p> </p><p>So she brings up Frankenstein again, and they discuss its eccentric, groundbreaking author, which leads to a relatively heated discussion about the current state of science fiction. Ben is, of course, quite precious when it comes to science fiction, while she is a fan of all the current stuff.</p><p> </p><p>Time passes completely unnoticed.</p><p> </p><p>They’re just about to start a debate on the current state of Star Trek when a gruff voice interrupts them.</p><p> </p><p>“Ben?” Their heads whip around to see who it is.</p><p> </p><p>Luke Skywalker. Ben’s uncle. The man Poe considers a mentor, a surrogate father. Rey chokes on her own spit and starts to cough a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Luke.” Ben acknowledges him with a curt nod. Then his gaze flits to her, and he looks like a deer in headlights.</p><p> </p><p>Luke’s gaze pins to Rey, too, and he narrows his eyes. They’ve met several times—had several positive experiences with each other—but he looks like he’s trying to place her. She pulls her new hat off and stuffs it in her bag to give him a better look.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Ms. Dameron,” he says, recognition finally coming to him. “I didn’t know you were a student here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not,” she says. “I’m just here on a visit. Leia suggested it last time I saw her. I thought it might be fun.”</p><p> </p><p>“And is it?” he asks, and Rey doesn’t like the way the man raises an eyebrow. Like he’s scrutinizing her. Them.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm, yes. I quite enjoyed Ben’s literature class.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Benjamin is a very revered professor in the English department. Will you be attending any other classes today?”</p><p> </p><p>“M—maybe,” she says, though she has zero intentions of doing so.</p><p> </p><p>“I have some suggestions—"</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?” Ben interrupts with a cutting voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I had a meeting. Thought I’d stop in here to get one of those little cucumber sandwiches they sell.” He lifts a little brown bag in front of them and shakes it a little.</p><p> </p><p>“More budget cuts to the department and tuition increases for the students, I’m sure,” Ben mutters, folding his arms across his chest like a petulant child. The sight almost makes Rey laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“You have such a negative opinion of administration, Ben. Don't forget your place.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know what—" Ben starts, his voice a bit louder, and Rey can almost see the steam start to billow out of his ears. But Luke interrupts him, calmly, and with a smile on his face. As if his sole purpose in coming over here was to piss him off.</p><p> </p><p>“See ya ‘round, kids,” Luke says, then winks at Rey and spins on his heel.</p><p> </p><p>“What was all that about?” She asks, as soon as the other man has disappeared.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s always like that,” Ben says, putting his head in his hands. “Don’t read too much into it.”</p><p> </p><p>“A lot of tension between you two,” she observes.</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm,” Ben confirms, fiddling with the lid of his cup.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I ask why?”</p><p> </p><p>Ben bites the inside of his cheek, thinking.</p><p> </p><p>“We never really got along. With as much as we have in common, we couldn’t be more different. He wanted me to do one thing with my life, but I chose another. Maybe he was right, though. I ended up exactly where he wanted me to be anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“And where’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>Ben sighs deeply and runs his hand down his face, and she wonders if she’s stumbled upon his sore point—the subject that he doesn’t like to talk about. Hers is her grandfather, maybe his is his uncle.</p><p> </p><p>“NYU.”</p><p> </p><p>That surprises her a little.</p><p> </p><p>“I always got the impression you liked your job,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“I do, I do,” he protests immediately. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, and I’m not blind to the privilege I have that I get to work here when there are far more qualified people. And I’m not blind to his part in it all. It’s just…I don’t know. Lately I’ve been questioning things.”</p><p> </p><p>She understands him. Deeply. She wishes she could convey to him how deeply, but all she can say is a solemn “me too.”</p><p> </p><p>He pulls his head from his hands and looks at her again, his face is red and scrunched with leftover tension. He doesn’t respond with words. He does what he always seems to do. He reaches out to her, and takes hold of her hands.</p><p> </p><p>She wishes he’d stop doing that. It makes it very hard for her to not feel like she’s not completely in love with him when he holds her hands. She thinks she must be incredibly attention-starved if something as simple as hands holding hands makes her feel so special. So enraptured by him.</p><p> </p><p>She also thinks that maybe he’s not even doing it for her. Maybe its for him. To center himself or something. Because after a minute of explicit, silent hand-holding, he looks calm again. He looks like he’s returned to himself.</p><p> </p><p>He clears his throat, squeezes her hands twice, and pulls his hands back. He clutches his coffee again, taking short but frequent sips.</p><p> </p><p>“So <em>are </em>you going to visit another class?” he asks, looking at her from the side.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t planning on it,” she admits.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have somewhere to be?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. I didn’t have to work today. And Poe is out of town.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes widen just the slightest bit, but he quickly schools his face back to normalcy. He returns to nursing his coffee, as if to drown out something he was going to say. She’s sure that cup must be empty by now. Hers is.</p><p> </p><p>“Have <em>you</em> got somewhere to be?” she asks in return.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I have office hours at 1:30,” he says, then looks at his watch. Rey taps her phone to see that it’s 1:45.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I can cancel them,” he mutters.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you do that?”</p><p> </p><p>“No one attends them anyway. They prefer to constantly email me at all hours of the night.” He pulls out his phone, presumably to send an email.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” she says, nodding.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have something in mind?” he asks, sliding his phone back into his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“My friend sent me some suggestions of what I should do today,” she says, pulling up her texts from Finn. “There are a few restaurants that sounded good. And there’s a trivia night at this bar at eight…”</p><p> </p><p>“A trivia night?” he asks, raising a quizzical brow.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. It’s noughties themed. I expect lots of questions about the Twilight saga and low-rise jeans.”</p><p> </p><p>“Two things I am an expert on,” he jibes.</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have to. I just thought it might be fun.” She tries to give him an out. She doesn’t want to seem like she’s trying to monopolize his time. They’ve already been together for well over two hours. He might have work to do. He might have Kaydel to get home to.</p><p> </p><p>But he says “I’d love to.” And she knows she won’t have such a bad birthday, after all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>They eat a late lunch at a pop up “designer” restaurant on the Upper West Side.</p><p> </p><p>It’s disgusting and non-filling in the way that overly fancy food often is. They make fun of it the whole time, but are too polite to leave.</p><p> </p><p>Ben insists on paying, despite her many protestations.</p><p> </p><p>She pays for the greasy pizza they get on the corner right after. It costs significantly less, but tastes significantly better.</p><p> </p><p>They make their way to Chelsea, and walk around the Market for a while. Ben gets rooked into buying some specialty beans at a meat market, and Rey buys some vegan soaps that Ben seems to like the smell of.</p><p> </p><p>A spring shower hits around 5:30, and they duck into a donut place and stuff their faces. Ben wasn’t kidding when he said he had a sweet tooth. The donuts he chooses would make a child cringe.</p><p> </p><p>It’s dark when they leave the donut shop, nearing 7:00. The ground is wet and it’s cold and miserable. But there’s an excited buzz thrumming through her body that tells her not to care.</p><p> </p><p>They hop into a cab towards the Lower East Side, where Mos Eisley Cantina is located. It’s an eccentric little bar, dimly lit with odd little nooks and crannies. Ben says it looks like an underground western speakeasy.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a little crowded, packed with a bunch of millennials dressed in bootcut pants and Coldplay t-shirts with their hair parted too far to the side. She and Ben stick out a little in their casual clothes. Rey wishes she saved her homemade “I heart Lee Ryan” shirt she made for a Blue concert she went to as a pre-teen. It would have been perfect for this.</p><p> </p><p>They go to sit at the bar, since most of the tables are taken up, and Rey pays the entry fee and puts their names down to join the trivia game. She has to choose a 2000’s-themed team name, so she puts the first thing that comes to her head. Ben only sighs when she tells him they will henceforth be known as “The Olsen Twins.”</p><p> </p><p>They decide she’s Ashley and he’s definitely Mary-Kate.</p><p> </p><p>The bartender comes up to take their order, and they both order beers on tap.</p><p> </p><p>She forgot about what day it was when she flashes her ID to the bartender.</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday” the man says, then walks away to prepare her drink.</p><p> </p><p>She cringes a little, feeling totally exposed. She darts her eyes over to Ben, who is staring at her a bit dumbfounded.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s your birthday?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, yeah, I didn’t mention that?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. You didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” she says, then just shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs again.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey?” He continues to prod. How annoyingly persistent this man is. Why is he always trying to get her feelings out of her? Why does she always feel sort of okay sharing them with him?</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to hang out with me just because it’s my birthday.”</p><p> </p><p>“I would’ve wanted to spend time with you regardless.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Really.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben turns his head towards his drink and sits in a contemplative silence for a while.</p><p> </p><p>“We met exactly eight years ago,” he says, a little amazed, a little disbelieving.</p><p> </p><p>“We did indeed,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“And we’re doing exactly the same thing now that we were then.”</p><p> </p><p>“This time we get to win together, though,” she says with a sly grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe if you tell the other teams it’s your birthday they might let you win.”</p><p> </p><p>“You tosser!” she says, hitting him on the chest. “I knew you let me win.” She did know, deep down, of course. But it feels odd to have it confirmed after so many years.</p><p> </p><p>“How could I not when you were looking at me with those eyes of yours?”</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s stomach flips at the way he’s staring at her. She should be used to the casual flirting between them by now. There’s been months and months of it. But she can’t help but feel girlish and excitable when he says things like that.She wants to ask him what he means, wants to ask him to elaborate, wants to keep pressing the issue until <em>something </em>happens. But then the enthusiastic game-runner shouts, making them both jump.</p><p> </p><p>“Is everybody ready for some triviaaaaaa?”</p><p> </p><p>A noncommittal whoop runs through the bar, with Rey’s shout being the loudest. It immediately ignites her confidence.</p><p> </p><p><em>These people can’t even whoop properly, </em>she scoffs in her head. She yanks the mini whiteboard and marker in front of her, and practically lips her chops in anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>“We are so going to win this,” Rey says, completely arrogant.</p><p> </p><p>And she was right to be, because they do win.</p><p> </p><p>Ben handles the 90's politics and history while Rey handles pop culture and fashion, though Ben has to take over with his genuinely concerning amount of knowledge on the<em> The Backstreet Boys' </em>music.</p><p> </p><p>It was neck and neck for a while. Quizteema Aguilera were really riding their asses the whole way. But after four hours of intense quizzing, they reign victorious.</p><p> </p><p>Rey screams with glee and launches herself into Ben’s arms when they win. She could kiss him she’s so thrilled. The game-runner breaks up their love fest and hands them a small plastic trophy and takes a picture with them.</p><p> </p><p>They remain at the bar for another couple hours, moving to a large table and putting their trophy front and center so everyone that walks by can see the fruits of their victory.</p><p> </p><p>They talk and laugh and drink—though not too much. Ben makes sure there is plenty of water on the table at all times.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> God he's funny. In the way that you could so easily miss it if you aren't listening close enough. She hasn't laughed this hard since she lived with Finn all those years ago. She's a tipsy, giggly mess. A complete contrast to how she felt this morning.</span></p><p> </p><p>Rey woke up feeling like a shell. She doesn’t feel so empty now. She feels like a winner. She feels like she’s loved. This may be her new favorite birthday she’s ever had.</p><p> </p><p>They step out of the bar once 1:30am hits. Ben insist on paying their tab.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the least I can do since I didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wish I would have.” He sounds a bit solemn.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay. I’ll remember next year.”</p><p> </p><p>Something about that promise makes her body go completely alight.</p><p> </p><p>They’re both smiley, glassy-eyed, and swaying, standing in front of the alley near the bar. They make idle chat—no attempts to leave each others sides in sight.</p><p> </p><p>He steps a little closer to her, reaching for her sweatshirt, pinching the grey fabric.</p><p> </p><p>“I like this, by the way,” he says, voice low and gravelly. He pulls on it a little more. Not enough to pull her towards him, but she steps closer anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” she says, her voice raspy from all the drinking and yelling.</p><p> </p><p>“I never asked…how did you find me today?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a bit frightening how much information you can find internet.”</p><p> </p><p>“It really is,” he says. “I’m glad it was there, though. I’m glad you found me.”</p><p> </p><p>“So am I,” she says, and her throat is so tight it comes out as a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>They’re closer now. His hands are around her lower back, slowly pulling her even further towards him. Hers are looped through his, gently tugging at his hips. They’re really not even doing it consciously. It’s just natural, a need, a hunger. Like magnets.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks she should be in more of a daze. They drank quite a lot tonight, but it’s also been over the course of six hours. But her head suddenly feels very clear. She knows what she wants to do—what she has to do.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to try something,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he responds, with amused skepticism.</p><p> </p><p>She searches his face long and hard, looking for a reason not to do this. But she can’t find one. All she finds is a pair of deep brown eyes staring down at her intently, and a set of plush lips lifted into just the slightest smirk.</p><p> </p><p>She just wants to know what it feels like. She <em>needs</em> to know. Maybe only then can she gain her sanity back.</p><p> </p><p>So she pushes herself up on her tip-toes and grabs his face, pulling it down towards hers.</p><p> </p><p>He’s stiff at first, shocked, clearly not expecting this. But then he melts into it, and tugs her closer.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a seemingly uncomplicated kiss. Just lips on lips, the shallow sounds of breathing. It’s sweet and simple, but loaded with something she can’t—won’t—name. Her hands run through his hair a little, and his start to knead at her lower back. He makes an odd, throaty noise that makes her stop. She tries to step back a little—tries to give him some space if he needs it—but his hands won’t allow it.</p><p> </p><p>She looks up at him to find an wild, almost feral face. His eyes are wide and pupils blown. His mouth is parted, panting a little. His hair sticks out every which way from her hands snaking through it.</p><p> </p><p>“I just thought since I messed it up the first time eight years ago…I don’t know. I wanted to—“</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t get to finish. He doesn’t let her. Because his hands are gone from her back, and are grasping at her head this time, pulling her face towards his.</p><p> </p><p><em>This</em> kiss is decidedly <em>not</em> uncomplicated.</p><p> </p><p>This kiss is on fire. It’s got tongues, heavy breaths, and throaty moans. This kiss is pushed against a cold brick wall and has wandering hands that move from her face to her tits to her ass. This kiss seeks friction. This kiss makes her press her pelvis against his, and makes her grind at the hardness she finds there. This kiss lasts for minutes, maybe even hours.</p><p> </p><p>It's like a seal has been broken, and everything they have is being flooded into this kiss. They can't stop touching, feeling, moving. She wonders why she ever felt this would be wrong when it feels this good. This <em>right. </em></p><p> </p><p>This kiss didn’t help her find her sanity. It made her lose what was left of it.</p><p> </p><p>And then her phone starts to buzz. And buzz. And buzz. She doesn’t know how the damn thing hasn’t lost power yet. And it keeps going and going until she can’t ignore it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>She keeps her lips on Ben’s—he’s still working at her mouth and squeezing her ass when she pulls her phone from her parka and lifts it to her eye-line. When she sees who it is, she has to stop Ben, and push him back from her, slightly too aggressively. He stumbles, and takes a moment to regain his composure and catch his breath. She gives him an apologetic look before moving onto the sidewalk.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, babe, where are you?” her husbands voice asks. She breaks out into a cold sweat that simmers her skin. Does he know what she just did? Is he here? Watching her? Watching them?</p><p> </p><p>“Where are <em>you?” </em>she asks in return, trying to sound as casual as possible.</p><p> </p><p>“I got home early. I thought I’d surprise you, but you weren't here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m at a bar with some friends. There was a pub quiz. We won.”</p><p> </p><p>She was always told the best lies are simple and close to the truth. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask <em>what </em>friends. If he paid one iota of attention to her, he’d know she doesn’t fucking have any. If he were smart, he’d be suspicious. But all he says is.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad you got to have some fun tonight. When will you be home?”</p><p> </p><p>She spins on her heel to look at Ben, who is looking back at her with those intense eyes. She breathes in and out deeply—a laboring task with how Ben is looking at her from the alley. It takes all the air out of her.</p><p> </p><p>“Soon,” she says. “We’re just finishing up.”</p><p><br/>“Okay. Be safe. Take a cab!”</p><p> </p><p>“Will do,” she squeaks.</p><p> </p><p>“Love you.”</p><p> </p><p>She can’t respond to that right now, so she just hangs up.</p><p> </p><p>She takes a few more deep breaths before she approaches Ben again, who looks thoroughly debauched. By her. But he’s got a nervous energy around him now. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he’s biting at the skin on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Was that…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she says, breathlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“You should go.”</p><p> </p><p>“I should.”</p><p> </p><p>He stands there, biting his lip for a few more moments. She expects him to say something, but he never does. He just walks to the street to hail her a cab. He finds one, gives her address, and pays the faire before putting her safely in the back seat.</p><p> </p><p>“So…I’ll see you in a few days? For game night?” He asks hesitantly, leaning in the doorway of the cab.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she says, still breathless.</p><p> </p><p>They stare and stare again. They stare at each other so much Rey starts to think that maybe it’s just a different kind of conversation they’re having.</p><p> </p><p>The cabbie clears his throat, breaking them from their silent conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday, Rey,” he says, then closes the door and taps the top of the cab. The words feel like an echo. Like deja vu. </p><p> </p><p>As they drive away, she checks her pockets and her hobo bag. She feels like she’s left something behind. But she’s got everything important. Her phone, her wallet, her trophy.</p><p> </p><p>But when they turn the corner then she chances a glance down the street and sees him still standing there on the corner, watching her drive away. She feels a powerful ache in her chest, an abject emptiness. </p><p> </p><p>And she realizes she has left something behind.</p><p> </p><p>Her heart.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When she gets home, Poe is standing at the door, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and another useless apology on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t let him talk. The<em> last</em> thing she wants is to hear him talk.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> She doesn't want to talk either.</span></p><p> </p><p>So she kisses him with what she hopes he perceives as passion, and leads him to the bedroom where she lets him fuck her from behind.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t want to look at him. It makes it easier for her to imagine...</p><p> </p><p>All she wants is to feel good. She was already so wet.</p><p> </p><p>She just wants to feel less guilty.</p><p> </p><p>But after he finishes, he rolls over and falls asleep with a smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>And she doesn’t feel less guilty. Not even a little.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can only apologize for the delay on this—I had the worst week. It began with a huge storm surging through my area and knocking my power out for three days (it also blew my neighbors gazebo thing into the side of my car and scratching it—but it was already a piece of shit so I'm not *that* bothered about it lol) and ended with my boss (who I love) accepting a position in another state and being replaced by a man (not to be sexist but ugh). This man informed us our hours would remain cut in half for the foreseeable future, and I also have to take a very slight pay cut. So it looks like I have to find another job lol.</p><p>I am glad I was able to get this up today, though. It's extra long, so I hope that makes up for my absence. I hope you all enjoyed it...despite the ending. </p><p>You can find me on Tumblr @ captaincabinetsao3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Codenames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They don’t talk about it.</p><p> </p><p>How could they? He doesn’t have her number. She doesn’t have his. </p><p> </p><p>But, God, it’s all he wants to talk about. It’s all he can think about.</p><p> </p><p>The kiss.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The kiss.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s been two days and he swears he can still feel her lips against his. Every time he thinks about it his body goes hot, he feels a surge in his stomach and his heart beats wildly. He feels like a teenager again, completely out of control of his own hormones.</p><p> </p><p>He’s never been this strung out before. He tried coke a couple of times when he was at Harvard—it was Bazine’s drug of choice—and the rush that gave him is nothing compared to how he feels now. It’s like every inch of him is buzzing with energy.</p><p> </p><p>Some of that buzzing might be his guilt—the pressing need to come clean to his wife, his mother, God, even.</p><p> </p><p>He felt the overbearing heaviness of guilt when he got home that night. Kay was there, asleep in his bed, which surprised him. She didn’t text him to tell him she was there, or ask where he was—something he tries not to read too much into. She does ask the next day, to which he said he got drinks with some colleagues—something he’s done in the past, but doesn’t do too much anymore. But he thought for sure she’d stay at her place—she usually does after a trip—but instead she came to the the empty brownstone.</p><p> </p><p>And when he walked in the bedroom and saw her sleeping form there he thought <em>what have I done? How could I do this? She doesn’t deserve this.</em><span class="Apple-converted-space">And she doesn't. She really doesn't. But he's selfish. And he's never felt this way before. He doesn't know how to do this, or what <em>this </em>even is. But he knows he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. He doesn't want to make any rash moves until he knows for sure that this isn't just lust, or mania, or a goddamn midlife crisis. He doesn’t think it’s any of those things. But he’s been wrong about his desires before. </span></p><p> </p><p>He didn’t sleep a wink that night. The guilt and thrill within him battling it out on every nerve of his body. He kept trying to reason with himself. He kept trying to come up with a thesis statement, a body, a conclusion as to why he did what he did—why he even wanted to do what he did.</p><p> </p><p>But all he could come with was…he just needed to. He’d found a bit of happiness, and he can’t help but chase after it. Maybe Rey is <em>his </em>drug of choice.</p><p> </p><p>His reasoning is incredibly weak, he knows. If one of his students turned in a paper with that weak of an argument he’d fail them and tell them to try again until they can come up with a solid argument.</p><p> </p><p>So he’s a hypocrite. He doesn’t want to question himself. He just wants to feel the way he feels and not overthink every move he makes for once.</p><p> </p><p>He just wishes he knew how <em>she</em> was feeling. And he is eager to find a moment to ask her tonight.</p><p> </p><p>But then around 4:30, Poe calls, and says they have to cancel.</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s not feeling well. They have to reschedule for next weekend.</p><p> </p><p>Again, Ben so wishes he had her number.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to know if she’s okay. Or if she’s just trying to avoid him. He wants to reassure her that he’ll never cross any line she doesn’t want him to. And then he starts to feel guilty in a whole different sense. Did he push Rey too far? That thought makes him spiral even harder.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to go about his week like normal, but finds it mostly impossible.</p><p> </p><p>He goes to work, but finds his eyes straying to the top of the lecture hall—up to that corner that she sat in last Thursday—hoping she’ll be there. Kay stays at the brownstone all week, as she sorts through her notes and interviews from her convention. Her presence simultaneously helps keep him grounded, and adds to the slight mania he’s experiencing.</p><p> </p><p>By the time Saturday arrives, Ben is so wracked with nerves a short burst of wind could knock him over. Poe tells them to come over earlier than usual, which leaves Ben with less time to mentally prepare.</p><p> </p><p>His nerves are made worse by the sour mood Kaydel is in. She complains the whole way to Queens—says she’s annoyed at the time change, and that she’s getting a little tired of doing this every week and tells Ben they should do it monthly. He whining gets to him somewhere, and finally snaps at her a little and tells her that she doesn’t have to come. She looks like she might fight back for a second—and he almost wishes she would—but she just pouts, folds her arms, and slouches back in her seat. She stays quiet the rest of the way there.</p><p> </p><p>When they enter the Dameron household, Rey is nowhere to be seen. No-one is anywhere to be seen, as Poe quickly escorts them into the backyard where he’s set up their patio for game night. It’s an unseasonably warm night, and apparently Poe wants to show off his recently sodded yard.</p><p> </p><p>Rey isn’t out on the patio either. So Ben just sits and waits for her to make an appearance. Every time<span class="Apple-converted-space"> the sliding glass door opens, his head snaps to see who it is. He starts to get a crick in his neck after a half hour. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">She finally shows up, with grocery bags in tow. Poe takes them from her and starts to grill for everyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Rey greets everyone generally, and then disappears inside. She doesn't look in his direction even once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">She pops in and out a few times during the next half hour. When the barbecue is finished, she sits and eats with everyone, making pleasant, casual conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Again, she doesn't look at him, doesn't engage with the slightest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">And for a brief moment, he wishes he had given into Kay's complaints and gone back home. But if she's feeling regret—if she wants to stop this—he needs to know. So when she goes in to clean up, he follows her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>He finds her in the kitchen, scrubbing away at the counter. He eyes briefly meet his when he walks in, but then immediately pin back down to the marble. He waits a moment to talk, hoping she'll start, but she doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you feeling okay?” he asks. She doesn’t look at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Poe said you were sick last week…are you better now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, right, yeah. I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t seem fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do I not?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you’ve been hot and cold with me all day,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way her face twitches slightly at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Have I?” she asks, playing innocent.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry.” She still won’t look at him. And it’s starting to actually make him angry, rather than sad.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” he says her name, stepping to her side of the counter.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?” she mumbles as she rounds the corner and starts scrubbing the other side.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” he tries again, but she doesn’t stop her incessant cleaning. “Will you look at me for God’s sake?”</p><p> </p><p>She throws down the towel, and finally looks up at him. Her face is pained, eyes verging on watery. It makes his heart hurt. He just wants to hold her.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, if you’re regretting what we did—"</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the thing, Ben,” she says, effectively cutting him off. “I don’t regret it. Not even a little.But what kind of person does that make me? I’m married. <em>You’re </em>married. We can’t do this. No matter how good or…<em>right </em>it feels.” She’s crying now. There are tears flowing down her face in steady, fat drops.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know, you’re right,” he says, stepping back from the counter and running a hand through his hair. “Do you…do you want to just pretend it never happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she protests.</p><p> </p><p>“We can go back to normal” he tries.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want that.”</p><p> </p><p>“So what do you want, Rey?” He asks, his voice raising the slightest bit, frustration with her wishy-washiness finally peaking.</p><p> </p><p>The back door slides open Snap makes some comment about the food as he passes through to the bathroom. Ben grabs his drink and starts to sip while Rey picks her rag back up and resumes her cleaning. She doesn’t look at him again. She just keeps scrubbing and scrubbing until Snap is out of the bathroom and back outside.</p><p> </p><p>“Just tell me what you want,” he whispers. “I can handle anything you have to say. I’ll accept it. Without question, without argument.”</p><p> </p><p>She stops her obsessive cleaning, and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, a sob shakes her shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to go back in time,” she says, her voice sounding far away. “To eight years ago. And I want us to start there.”</p><p> </p><p>“We can’t do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” she says, spitting out her own frustration quite loudly.</p><p> </p><p>Ben sighs deeply, a huge exhale.</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t come around anymore, if that will make things easier for you. I can stop coming to game night.”</p><p> </p><p>She removes her hands from her eyes, and looks at him with wide, desperate, watery eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Please—no, don’t do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Rey, I really don’t know what else to do. That seems like the easiest solution to forget about each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t <em>want </em>to forget about us!” she bellows, like a petulant child. Her eyes flash with worry, and flit towards the back door before looking back at him.</p><p> </p><p>Ben runs his hands through his hair, gripping the back of his head in frustration. He turns on his heel to look away from her, to cool down a little, and finds himself instead staring at the fireplace mantle that holds their family photos.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it should make him feel guiltier, looking at these photos of Rey and Poe on vacations and with their friends. But it just makes him feel envious and sad.</p><p> </p><p>Rey moves from her side of the counter, then, and bustles towards him. She grabs his arm and pulls him through the house into the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>She stands facing the tub, a hand on her forehead as if checking for fever. He just stares at her back. And waits. And waits. And <em>waits</em> for her verdict.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me something,” she whispers, as she slowly turns. She still doesn’t look at him, red eyes focused securely on the white tile. Disassociated.</p><p> </p><p>“Anything,” he responds, his own voice barely a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you think we never told them we knew each other?”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t need to elaborate—doesn’t need to name the “thems” —they both know.</p><p> </p><p>This is something he’s thought about a lot since they met again.</p><p> </p><p>At first he told himself it was just because they weren’t sure if they recognized each other. It would’ve been quite awkward to have said he remembered her from one night—a mere few hours—seven years ago, and her have zero memory of it. But even after it was confirmed, they had many opportunities to tell <em>them </em>about their chance meeting. But they didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“I think…” he starts. Trying to choose the right words. “I think because we knew this was going to happen.”</p><p> </p><p>Not telling keeps them protected. It makes them practical strangers who have no connection other than that through their spouses. It’s a secret—a private, special thing that only they can share.</p><p> </p><p>She bites her lip, a fresh well of tears building at her eyes. She starts to nod, seemingly confirming his theory. But she still won’t look at him.</p><p> </p><p>He wishes he could touch her right now, comfort her, hold her hands, but he doesn’t. Not when he’s so unsure of what’s going through her mind.</p><p> </p><p>She sniffles, and starts to pull herself together. She wipe her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ears. Then her eyes finally flit from the grout to his face, wide as saucers.</p><p> </p><p>“If we do this…” she starts, and his heart stops beating for a second, his body freezes, waiting for her finish.</p><p> </p><p>“If we do this,” she repeats, “we have to be careful, Ben.”</p><p> </p><p>His treacherous heart fucking soars. He surges towards her, looping his arms around her back practically pulling her feet off the floor, and places a light kiss on her lips. He spins them until she’s back against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to hurt them,” she whispers against his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t either.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I just…I need to know. I need to feel…” she doesn’t elaborate what she needs to feel. He knows. He knows because he feels the same way.</p><p> </p><p>Something.</p><p> </p><p>He just needs to feel <em>something.</em></p><p> </p><p>He leans his head down and places his lips on her cheeks, kissing the tears there. She pulls him into an embrace, her arms wrap around his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Me too,” he admits. “I’ll make sure you feel everything, Rey,” he promises, continuing a stream of kisses all over her face and neck.</p><p> </p><p>She presses herself into him, and she pulls him back so she’s trapped against the wall. She’s eager and impatient. Her hands grab at his face, stopping his lips from exploring, and yank him down to kiss her lips. She works at him ravenously, her tongue exploring every inch of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Her left leg lifts and wraps around his hips, pulling them ever closer. He reaches down and lifts the right leg around him, and scoops her bottom up so he’s holding her, and his hands can't help but take liberties with her ass. She grinds against him, hips swiveling and swirling erratically. </p><p> </p><p>He tastes the saltiness of tears, but he honestly doesn’t know if they’re his or hers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He feels like he could burst with happiness. </span>She can’t stop pressing into him, her hands can’t stop tugging on his hair and running across his face and chest. And when she makes those sweet little moans of hers he thinks he might just fuck her right there against this wall.</p><p> </p><p>But then a freak accident occurs. A fluke. He feels a sting on his face, and he abruptly stops kissing her to hiss in pain. He pulls them way from the wall, letting her feet fall to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking up at him. Then her eyes bulge, and she clasps her mouth over her hands.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god,” she cries. Then moves towards a small shelf holding towels.</p><p> </p><p>He turns around and looks in the mirror, to find blood dripping down his face. A small gash is now featured on his face, cutting from the side of his nose to the right side of his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“How…” He touches the cut, hissing again.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, I must’ve done it.” she hands him the towel, and he spots the tiniest bit of blood on her wedding ring. She does too.</p><p> </p><p>“Your ring…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I’m so—"</p><p> </p><p>But another voice shouting through the house cuts her off. “Baaabbee!” Poe bellows.</p><p> </p><p>Rey quickly ushers him to the toilet, splashes cold water on her face, and scrambles to open the bathroom door.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re in here!” she yells.</p><p> </p><p>Poe pops his head through the door moments later. Rey hides her face, digging through the cabinets under the sink.</p><p> </p><p><br/>“Do you know where the—" Poe starts, then notices Ben. “What happened to you, Solo?”</p><p> </p><p>“He hit his head on that stupid shelf you insisted on putting in here,” Rey answers for him. “I heard him cry out and came to look for the plasters. Where are they?”</p><p> </p><p>He’s amazed how easy that lie came out of her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Solo is the only person tall enough to hit his face on that shelf, Rey,” Poe argues.</p><p> </p><p>“Poe! The plasters!”</p><p> </p><p>“The <em>bandaids </em>are in our bathroom,” he says sardonically.</p><p> </p><p>Rey huffs and rushes past him, charging down the hall like a ER doctor or something. Poe then turns to Ben, who is sitting quietly with a towel pressed to his face.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know you were so clumsy. I guess I know why you didn’t play sports in high school now.” Poe laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I drank too much. I got a little disoriented,” Ben lies.</p><p> </p><p>And then he's amazed at how easy it was for <em>him </em>to lie to this man's face.</p><p> </p><p>Poe’s eyes flit to the shelf in question—which is indeed quite a high shelf. Just a simple wood plank holding sailing knick-knacks. Ben’s heart races, thinking that the other man must be suspicious. He shifts on the toilet seat to hide the slight bulge still begging for attention. But Poe only starts to laugh, and shake his head—as if Ben is<em> such</em> an idiot—and then disappears, calling after his wife.</p><p> </p><p>Rey returns a few moments later and closes the door behind her. With her, she carries a box of bandaids, some q-tips, and a tube of Neosporin, and starts to work at his cut. He watches her with affection as she fawns over him with concern, and she whispers sorry every few seconds.</p><p> </p><p>“Snap’s wife is a nurse,” she says as she finishes smoothing out the bandaid as best she can. “You might want to have her look at it in case it needs stitches.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just a surface scratch, Rey, don’t worry about it,” he says, pulling her hand from his face and holding it her own. She’s shaking a little, whether it be from the kiss, the injury, or the almost getting caught, he doesn’t know. He just wants to calm her down.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just…I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was an accident.”</p><p> </p><p>“We shouldn’t—" his heart plummets when she pauses her sentence. “We shouldn’t do this when the others are around. We weren’t being careful.”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs with relief, and almost makes a joke that maybe they should take this as a sign. But he doesn’t. She seems a little too fragile for that right now. And while he knows she's not the religious sort, that doesn't necessarily mean she's not superstitious.</p><p> </p><p>“I agree," he says. "We’ll have to set some ground rules. We’ll go slow. Figure things out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Slow,” she repeats with a nod. “Do you have your phone?”</p><p> </p><p>He pulls it out of his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to her. She fiddles with it for a few moments before handing it back.</p><p> </p><p>“I saved my number and sent myself a message.”</p><p> </p><p>He looks at his screen as sees an unusual contact opened.</p><p> </p><p>“Captain Walton?” he asks, amused at her choice.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll save yours as Margaret. I thought it would be best to use pseudonyms.” She’s got a wry little smile that tells him she’s quite of herself.</p><p> </p><p>“Very clever,” he praises, standing up. “You do know they’re brother and sister, though, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be gross,” she says, batting him on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>He cries out and clutches the spot she punched, feigning pain. She rolls her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you’re really very dramatic.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t help it,” he says. “It’s in my blood.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes again, but giggles. A sweet sound—one that warms his body and makes him forget all about the stinging pain on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go first,” she says, but she doesn’t move. He doesn’t either. They stand and stare at each other, as they always seem to do, with a million conversations happening with their eyes.</p><p> </p><p>He reaches out and traces his index finger across her face. From her left cheekbone, over her nose, and onto the right. It’s a gentle move, running across her constellation of freckles. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do this, but it makes her smile, and earns him a quick kiss on the cheek before she finally does leave.</p><p> </p><p>He waits a few more minutes before he leaves the bathroom, willing the last of his erection to subside before he can return to the group.  </p><p> </p><p>And then they're back to being strangers.</p><p> </p><p>Ben Solo and Rey Dameron who met four months ago at a Christmas party.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Ben Solo and Rey Dameron who play games with their spouses once a week.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Nothing less. Nothing more.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Do I have a tear kissing kink? Maybe so. The train to Bone Town is slowly approaching the station, ya’ll. Patience. </p><p> </p><p>Please forgive any errors—I'll fix them later. Probably.</p><p> </p><p>You can find me @ Captaincabinetsao3.tumblr.com :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Cheat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I just wanted to preface this chapter by making it clear I do not condone cheating. This chapter offers insight to what Rey and Ben are thinking by cheating, and why they haven't left their respective partners. Their excuses are their excuses, however wrong they might be.</p><p>All this said, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a rainy Thursday morning, and Rey is sipping on a slightly-too-bitter iced Americano somewhere in Manhattan. Waiting.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t choose the place. It’s kitschy and crowded, but it’s not Starbucks, so she’s not complaining.</p><p> </p><p>Captain Walton and Margaret have kept their text correspondence minimal, but they do agree to meet every week, whenever they have time. They take turns choosing random cafes, restaurants, bars, and parks. They try not to pick the same place twice. Rey tries not to think too hard about why that is.</p><p> </p><p>All they really do is talk. And eat. And talk some more.</p><p> </p><p>No funny business.</p><p> </p><p>Well, a little funny business.</p><p> </p><p>But no sex.</p><p> </p><p>She isn’t sure when or how they agreed upon it, but sex was off the table for the time being, that much is certain.</p><p> </p><p>That first week after they began…whatever this is…she met him at his office to have lunch together. The hour went by quickly, and all they did is talk and stuff turkey sandwiches in their faces. But before she left, she kissed him on the cheek. And he wasn't quite satisfied with just that, so he pulled her in for a<em> real</em> kiss, on the lips. And the kissing turned into a full-blown tongue battle with a side of heavy petting. By the end of it, Rey was sprawled out on his desk, a pen digging into her shoulder blade, with her legs wrapped around his hips, grinding on him.</p><p> </p><p>She probably would have let him fuck her right there had someone not knocked on his door. They stayed completely still, completely silent, until whoever it is walked away. They stared at each other, that blood completely drained from both of their faces. The sweat beading on their skin not from their previous activities, but from almost getting caught.</p><p> </p><p>After that, they only ever meet in public places. Neither of them ever proposes they meet at his office again, not do they suggest one of their houses when the spouses are away, or at a hotel, or anywhere that anything vaguely sexual could occur.</p><p> </p><p>She wants to have sex with him—<em>of course</em> she does. She’s insanely attracted to him and the things he does with his tongue in her mouth only gives her grand ideas of what he could do with it elsewhere. She dreams about what it would be like.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn’t push it.</p><p> </p><p>Because she worries about what sex would mean for their relationship. Once she has sex with him, will he be done with her? Will he have gotten what he wanted, and suddenly be uninterested in her? Maybe all her appeal to him is the danger and excitement of something new. Maybe her cunt is just a prize to be one--a challenge.But for her, she knows sex would mean something different. If she fucks him, she would be in love with him, and there would be no turning back.</p><p> </p><p>And there’s something that feels so complete about sex. Like if they do it they really, truly are <em>cheaters</em>. Which is ridiculous, of course, since they’re cheating regardless of whether or not his dick has been inside her. She wonders how the women she lived next to back in Arizona justified it to themselves. She used to take the piss out of them, but now she’s no better.</p><p> </p><p>When she’s with Ben, it’s easy to justify what they’re doing. When it’s just the two of them, and the rest of the world is nonexistent. They feel nothing but that unique and completely intoxicating affection from each other.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t talk about Poe. They don’t talk about Kaydel. It’s just about <em>them</em> and how <em>they</em> feel.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s so good at talking with her. He’s so thoughtful and attentive. He can express his emotions, thoughts, and feelings in a way she’s never seen a man do before. And he coaxes that same openness out of her, too.</p><p> </p><p>It’s selfish, Rey knows. It’s the most selfish thing she’s ever done. But it just feels so good to be with him. Even without sex, what’s happening with him is probably the most intimate relationship she’s ever had with another person. More intimate than her own marriage.</p><p> </p><p>But in the wee hours of the morning, when she can’t sleep, she imagines a million horrible scenarios where Poe finds out, or Kaydel catches them, or Ben just decides he doesn’t want to be with her anymore. In her nightmares she loses her life in New York, and ends up back in England, at her grandfather’s house, where he has his people whip her like he used to and tells her what an awful human being she is.</p><p> </p><p>She makes herself sick thinking about everything she could lose from this.</p><p> </p><p>She’s considered telling Poe on multiple occasions. Any time he absolutely pisses her off the petty part of her would love throw it in his face. And any time he does something sweet or makes her laugh she’s overwhelmed with guilt and feel like she should confess to cleanse her soul.</p><p> </p><p>Just the other day she was sitting in the living room, reading, and he walked in and sat next to her on the couch. He just waited patiently until she looked up at him. And when she did he had his hair pulled into two tiny pony tails that stuck out off the top of his head like antennae. He swiftly announced he needed a haircut. And it made her laugh—far harder that it should have, because really, it wasn’t <em>that </em>funny—but it reminded her of when they first started dating. Of how fun it was. Of why she liked him in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>She has to physically get away from him in those moments, because her conscience screams at her to tell him. Rip the bandaid off. <em>Let’s just get this over with so we can all move on,</em> it tells her.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn’t listen to it.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t want to hurt Poe. That’s one of the biggest excuses for the secrecy. She knows she is hurting him regardless, and that this may all blow up in her face at any time and cause more hurt. But her <em>fear</em> is more powerful than any guilt she can possibly have. Fears of abandonment and lack of love from her tumultuous childhood that have been exacerbated by the current situation.</p><p> </p><p>If she tells Poe, he’ll leave her for sure. His ego could never live with the betrayal, the embarrassment. And then she’ll be free to be with Ben without so much guilt. Which, on the surface, seems like the ideal outcome But what if he doesn’t leave Kaydel?</p><p> </p><p>Despite his constant reassurance, and despite his almost overwhelming displays of affection, she’s scared that maybe this isn’t a long term thing for him. That he wouldn’t leave his wife for her. That she’d fuck up her life and he’d get to keep his, and she’d be all alone again. Abandoned. Again.</p><p> </p><p>And then what?</p><p> </p><p>Would Chewie want to keep her on after what she did? She’d have to find a new job. Her closest friend in the city is Ben’s own mother. She could never see Leia again. Everyone else she knows or feels vaguely close to is Poe’s friend. None of them would certainly ever speak to her again—she wouldn’t blame them, either. Everyone she knows she knows through Poe. Even Ben, technically, she knows through Poe. Her own best friends are still across the world in Vietnam. And <em>they’re </em>Poe’s friends, too. What would they think of this?</p><p> </p><p>She’d have to start a whole new life.</p><p> </p><p>And what’s the alternative? What if they did<em> both</em> leave their spouses? What if they confessed and ran away together? The possibility of being shunned by everyone in their lives is still there. Would Leia risk having them both around with another campaign around the corner? Would Chewie be able to look her in the eyes? Would Ben grow to resent her—resent himself?</p><p> </p><p>And if they both left their spouses, without ever telling them what they did, how would it look if they got together weeks, months, even years after the fact? People would probably still be suspicious, rightfully so.</p><p> </p><p>There are so many choices—so many difficult choices and she’s too much of a coward to make any. She almost wishes they’d just get caught already so she doesn’t have to make a choice. But more than anything, she wishes she had someone to talk with about this. She wishes she had a friend who wasn’t directly involved. Someone who could be objective and wouldn't judge her too harshly. Someone who understands her need for love, but also her need for security.</p><p> </p><p>She’s realized, quite shamefully, that Poe, more than he is her husband, is her <em>safety net. </em>Poe was the first person to ever commit to her. The first person outside of Finn and Rose to tell her that he loves her. And he’s never walked away from her even though she knows she can be stubborn and difficult. He takes care of her. How can she give up that security?</p><p> </p><p>And she suspects that for Ben, Kaydel is a safety net of sorts, too. He doesn’t need her financial security. No, what he needs is a normal, posh wife from the same New York stock he’s from. From their many conversations Rey has seen how frightened of slipping back into his old ways he is. He fears, more than anything, losing his relationship with his mother--his only family. So he needs someone who will keep him out of trouble. Someone to make him look good.</p><p> </p><p>And Rey isn’t that.</p><p> </p><p>Rey might be smart, and was educated at one of Britain’s finest secondary schools, but she’s still the raucous Brum who robbed £150 of merchandise from Poundland when she was <em>nine.</em> She's still the greasy mechanic who works at a run-down auto body shop in Queens, making shit all. She’s still her grandfather’s shame.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t doubt Ben’s affinity for her, not even for a second. She knows he enjoys her as much as she enjoys him. And she doesn’t want to reduce him to one of <em>those </em>men who finds a pretty young thing to have a fling with—he’s better than that. But she’s not blind to the guilt and nervousness that sometimes pops up on his face. Sometimes she sees the brief flashes of panic when a random small blonde woman walks by. Sometimes she feels his hesitance when their kissing gets too hot and heavy.</p><p> </p><p>He probably has the same doubts that she does, but it’s hard to know, because they try not to talk about it. They can talk about anything, but they both seem to be scared of <em>that </em>conversation. The one about the future. <em>Where is this going? What are we? Do you love me?</em></p><p> </p><p>This terrible thing that they’re doing feels so solid, so right, and yet it’s hanging by a thread at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space"><br/>It’s funny. For the first time in a long time she's made a huge decision for herself—purely for herself—and it still feels so out of her control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>The fact of the matter is that she won’t ask him to leave Kay, and he won’t ask her to leave Poe. Neither of them ever wants to make that assumption or push that boundary when it’s so fresh.</p><p> </p><p>And so they’re stuck in their current situation—meeting in public spaces, far away from their own neighborhoods, to keep from jumping each others bones.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br/></span></p><p> </p><p>So they don’t push it. They keep their safety nets. For now. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe when she’s more sure of herself, sure of their relationship, and sure of his feelings and intentions…maybe then she’ll feel okay with losing everything for the chance at true love. But not right now. This is too new.</p><p> </p><p>She’s been watching the ice melt in her Americano as she contemplates. She didn’t realize Ben had arrived and sat across from her until she hears his muffled voice.</p><p> </p><p>She looks up, and the first thing she notices is that pink little scar that still mars his right cheek, all these weeks later. Part of her feels guilty all over again, but the dirty part of her thinks it looks kind of hot. And an even dirtier part of her relishes in <em>how</em> it happened.</p><p> </p><p>And the second thing she sees is his smile, and all her worries, as they always do, quickly begin to melt away.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Ben arrives at Bespin Coffee ten minutes later than he was supposed to. An undergrad came to his office hours, crying about her work load and how overwhelmed she is, and it took Ben nearly a half hour to calm her down.</p><p> </p><p>This is the second time he’s had to console a crying woman this week.</p><p> </p><p>Kaydel came home from a quick work trip to Virginia in tears. Apparently the paper hired a new Editor in Chief, a position she’s coveted for a long time. But no, they brought in some man from the outside, with only slightly more work experience than her despite being twenty years older. He was upset right along with her, as he knows how hard she’s worked—especially this last year.</p><p> </p><p>Then she drops a tiny bomb on him. She said that the thing that upsets her most about losing the promotion was how much she’s sacrificed her personal relationships to show how dedicated to the publication she was. And then she <em>apologized </em>to him for neglecting their marriage.</p><p> </p><p>She said she is going to be taking a little more time off to spend more time with him and her parents.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that now, of all times, she’d come to the realization that she wants to work on their relationship. He was full of guilt before, but this overwhelmed him.</p><p> </p><p>He nearly spilled everything then, but he stopped himself. He told himself it was because she was fragile, and it didn’t feel like the right time. But he has other reasons. They’re cowardly and selfish reasons, but reasons nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>He feels like he’s just rebuilt his life after completely setting it on fire fifteen years ago. He has his family back. He stands on a solid foundation. And Kaydel is a big part of that. She keeps him stable, grounded. He knows where he stands with her, he knows what to expect from her. It’s never been particularly exciting, or passionate, but it’s clean. It’s expected.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t see Rey as some turbulent tornado who will fuck everything up. No, <em>he’s </em>the tornado. He’ll fuck his life up and take her down with him whether he means to or not.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally left Snoke—when he left England and returned home to New York to his mother—he vowed to never let anything like that happen again. He vowed to live a life that his father would be proud of.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s thought a lot about how his father and how he’d react to Rey. He’d love her, he’s sure of that. Ben’s told her as much, and she always says how sorry she is she never got to meet him. She loves hearing stories about him, when he’s willing to tell her.</p><p> </p><p>But even if Han loved Rey, would he be proud of this?</p><p> </p><p>Ben never really got the chance to ask Han if his own affairs were a source of embarrassment for him—if he regretted them. He never really got to have any of those man-to-man conversations with his father because he spent so much of his adulthood, and the better part of his teens, being angry at him. And then he died before any of these conversations could be had.</p><p> </p><p>He imagines conversations with Han in his head sometimes. His father is the only person he can confess to.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey kid,” Han would start out by saying, as he always did.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, pop,” Ben would respond. Han liked being called “pop,” so during his tumultuous teenage years, Ben would call him <em>Han, </em>and<em> father </em>on occasion, just to piss him off.</p><p> </p><p>“How have you been?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been the best I’ve ever been in my life,” he’d say. “And the worst.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>“Oh? How's that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m doing something bad, pop.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gambling?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Drugs?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ahhh,” Han would say, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “A woman.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben would only nod at that, too ashamed to say it out loud.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you already have one?” He’d ask, raising a judgmental eyebrow, but with a tinge of humor in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Like I said, I’m doing something bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you doing something bad?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I want to be happy, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>“A classic excuse. But someone’s gonna get hurt, kid. Someone always does.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why did you?” Ben would ask. “Why did you do bad things?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know how his father would answer that, really. But from his conversation with his mother those weeks ago, he thinks it’s because the man needed attention. He couldn’t live without the constant reassurance of love.</p><p> </p><p>“I only ever did <em>bad things</em> when your mother and I were separated.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that different. You were never officially separated, and you always kept it a secret from her.”</p><p> </p><p>“She still knew. Your mother knows everything.”</p><p> </p><p>“But even through it all you held onto your marriage. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I loved your mother. And I always hoped things might change.”</p><p> </p><p>“But they never did,” Ben concludes. Even up till his death, Ben’s parents were on and off.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Han would confirm “They never did.”</p><p> </p><p>His imaginary conversations with his father never reach a satisfying end. He thinks maybe because his relationship with him never reached a satisfying end. There will always be unanswered questions, what ifs, ellipses at the end of a sentence.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">His father can't give him the answers. He's going to have to find them himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>These last few weeks with Rey have been everything. She constantly blows his mind with how smart and funny and kind she is. Every time he’s with her he wants to beg her to leave Poe, run away with him, they’ll go to California, Germany, Australia—wherever she wanted. Fuck, he’d even live in Florida if that meant he could be with her all the time.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s not how real life works. If they did that, he’d be right where he was fifteen years ago. He’d be the fuck up that tore apart his family for his own selfish endeavors. He’d probably ruin his relationship with Leia, and definitely ruin Leia’s relationship with the Connixs’s—a relationship she needs to keep her position in New York. He knows his mother's love to be unconditional. But her <em>respect?</em> That has strings.</p><p> </p><p>And Rey. She would grow to hate him eventually—everyone always does. He doesn’t ever want to see that happen. </p><p> </p><p>And would she even leave Poe if he asked? Would she even consider it for a second? He’s too afraid of the answer. He’s a fucking coward. A selfish coward.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t even realize that he’s arrived at the coffee shop, until a woman accidentally knocks her purse into his arm on her way past him. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the back of Rey’s head, lost in his reverie.</p><p> </p><p>People shuffle around him, probably wondering what this creep is doing staring at the back of this woman’s head. When he comes around she barely seems to notice him, lost in a reverie of her own.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” he says, dropping into the chair across from her. “Finals are next week and the first-years are panicking.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes seem to light up—come alive—when they land on him, and she smiles that gummy smile that always makes his heart stutter.</p><p> </p><p>And that look from her makes all the anxiety and risk worth it.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” she says, voice sweet and gentle. “I wasn’t waiting long.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p><br/>“Better, now that you’re here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are <em>you </em>okay?” she asks, reaching her arm across the table and placing her palm up. It’s an offering—a gesture he’s come to cherish.</p><p> </p><p>“Better, now that I’m here,” he says, placing his large hand over hers, entwining their fingers. He gives her hand a quick squeeze, and she gives him one back. A silent message.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t quite fall into easy conversation today like they normally do. She seems to get lost in thought again, and he doesn’t want to interrupt her. She absently plays with his fingers while they sit silently.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders if maybe this is it. If they’ve had their few weeks of fun and she’s decided he’s a boring old fuck and no longer wants to pursue this. Or maybe her guilt is getting to her, too. He knows she likes him—a lot. But his insecurity likes to whisper terrible things in his head. It tells him that she’s just a bored housewife and he’s the proverbial pool boy she’s chosen to have some fun with this summer.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me something,” she says, interrupting his spiral. She’s looking at him again, eyes focused and bright again.</p><p> </p><p>“What would you like to hear?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know. Something embarrassing. Something to make me laugh.” She props her elbows on the table, nestles her chin into her hands, and waits.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks for a moment. There’s plenty to be embarrassed about from his past, but he doesn’t know how funny she’d find any of that. But there is one deep, dark secret that he’s never told anyone before.</p><p> </p><p>“I like Outback Steakhouse. Un-ironically.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey gasps dramatically, and clutches her free hand to her heart. “A New Yorker loves<em> Outback Steakhouse?</em> But there are so many small, independently owned mom and pop restaurants with locally sourced organic beef! Blaspheme!”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know. It’s a constant source of humiliation.The bread is just so good. I get it delivered sometimes on my lunch break. I request the Postmates driver hide the logo if possible. I’ve got a reputation to uphold among my peers.”</p><p> </p><p>“The bread <em>is </em>good,” Rey says. “Anyway, I can’t really judge. We ate there all the time in Arizona. It was considered real fine dining there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says, cocking his head towards her. “Your turn.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm…when I first moved to London I thought it would be fun to jog around Hyde Park a few times a week.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s embarrassing about that?”</p><p> </p><p>She holds out her index finger, shakes her head, and gives him a look that says <em>oh, </em><em>just wait.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Well, one of those times, I went after eating nearly a whole box of Wheatabix out of boredom. Long story short, I shat myself near the Diana memorial. I had to sit in the grass for two hours until Finn got off work and could bring me a change of clothes.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben barks out a laugh so mighty, other people in the cafe turn to look at what monster is making such a noise. Tears start to form in his eyes as he struggles to contain himself.</p><p> </p><p>“To this day I can’t look at anything to do with Lady Di without thinking about it,” she says through her own peels of laughter. “Whenever something weird happens around the house I always think it’s her haunting me, getting her revenge for the disrespect."</p><p> </p><p>“That’s way more embarrassing than my story,” he chokes the words out through his laugher. “Let me think of a new one.”</p><p> </p><p>He conjures up old memories of falling out of trees and trying to impress girls, and recounts them to Rey. He does get her to laugh, and it’s such a sweet sound, it makes him feel so invincible, that he spends the rest of the afternoon trying to get her to laugh harder. It’s an addiction like no other.</p><p> </p><p>He’ll allow himself this. He’ll allow himself these dates with Rey. He’ll allow himself to kiss her, and hold her hand. It makes him feel alive. Like he’s the owner of his own thoughts and feelings. He didn’t realize how much he needed her until he had her.</p><p> </p><p>Like his imagined father said, the hurt will come—it always does. Delaying the inevitable has never worked out for him.</p><p> </p><p>But he doesn't know if there's an expiration date on this. So he just wants to feel this way for a little bit longer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this chapter was super internal-dialogue heavy and introspective, and not super fun, but I think it was definitely necessary based on some of the comments I've been getting. They are ultimately both cheating because they're unhappy--not just in their marriages, but in their lives in general, and being with each other makes them happy. But they are both insecure, and they aren't sure where this is going or what the other is thinking, and so they don't want to risk blowing up multiple lives when things are still so unsure. I hope that makes sense...Next chapter will be significantly more fun ;) </p><p>Also, the Outback Steakhouse anecdote is based on my cousin who moved to NYC and got shit on by her coworkers for suggesting Outback for an outing. No shade to Outback. They have good mashed potatoes. </p><p>You can find me @ Captaincabinetsao3.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Unstable Unicorns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please see end notes for trigger warning</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A most unwelcome memory invades Rey’s mind as she works on the the broken radio of a beat up Monte Carlo.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not sure exactly what triggers it. It’s a mix of things, really. The smell of cigarette smoke blowing in through the open garage. The rough and almost sinister sound of Julio’s laughter as he chats with a customer. The constricting space of the small car. All of it reminiscent of her childhood.</p><p> </p><p>But she’s pretty sure it’s the air freshener hanging off the rearview mirror. It smells of sickly sweet roses.</p><p> </p><p>Her chest feels tight and breathing becomes laboring. She’s sweaty and sticky, and it’s not all from the summer heat and humidity that has arrived in New York. She’s never been one to feel claustrophobic in tight spaces, but all she can think about is escaping this car. But she tries to push through.</p><p> </p><p>It’s when her hands start to shake that she decides to abandon her work. She scoots out of the passenger side and runs up the metal stairs to Chewie’s office. She mentally prepares herself to ask for an early lunch break. 9:45am isn’t exactly the most ideal time for lunch, but she just needs to not be <em>here.</em></p><p> </p><p>Chewie is usually pretty accommodating when she needs something, but she still hates asking. The nicest thing about him is he doesn’t ask questions unless he absolutely has to.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t want questions right now. She just wants to breathe again. She just wants the memories to go away. She just wants this sick feeling in her stomach, and the shaking of her hands, to subside.</p><p> </p><p>She knocks and waits, but there’s no answer. She stands idly a little while longer before opening the door, only to find his office cast in darkness. He’s not here.</p><p>
  
</p><p>She goes to shut the door, goes to leave, but finds herself craning neck to look at the room again. It might not be the neatest or most hospitable of offices, but it’s quiet. Cold. And his big, beat up leather chair looks like the most comfortable thing in the world right now. So she slips in and closes the door behind her not even bothering to turn the light on.</p><p> </p><p>She falls into Chewie’s chair and leans back, trying to relax her body and her troubled mind. But the stench of roses is still stuck in her nose. The hollowness that always comes when she thinks of her childhood remains.</p><p> </p><p>The room is lit by only the slightest bit of sunlight shining in through the slatted shades. The men on his desk is illuminated. It’s piled with a bunch of old knick knacks, paper, and a clunky old corded telephone.</p><p> </p><p>She stares at the phone, chewing on her nails, a thought flip flopping around her skull. An idea that might make everything better.</p><p> </p><p>She sucks in a breath before swiftly picking up the heavy handset. Then she dials a number she didn’t even know she memorized.</p><p> </p><p>It rings. And rings and rings. She should probably just hang up. It was stupid to—</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” A wave of warmth washes over her.</p><p> </p><p>Two weeks.</p><p> </p><p>That’s how long she’s gone without hearing Ben’s voice. They’ve texted here and there, but nothing more. She’s embarrassed at how instantly soothed by the sound of his voice she is. It’s like that moment the Advil Liquigel kicks in—a rush of overwhelming relief.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” she says, her voice dry and fragile, sounding not very much like herself.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey?” She’s surprised he even realized it was her.</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re calling from work,” he observes, sounding the slightest bit confused.</p><p> </p><p>“I am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes…I just…I—“ She stutters. God this <em>was </em>a stupid idea. Of course he’d think something was wrong. Of course he’d get a read on her that quickly. And she didn’t call him to talk about her past, but she doesn’t know how to tell him she just needed to hear his voice without sounding too clingy.</p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” His tone is a bit more more forceful, now, like he’s ready to kill someone if anything has happened to her.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs deeply.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t really know. One second I was fine. The next I remembered something about my grandfather and I just…freaked. And then I called you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your grandfather?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s stupid. I’m being ridiculous. We don’t have to—"</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not being ridiculous,” he assures her, voice gentle. “You can talk to me about him, if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>He must be so curious. She’s dropped small bits about that part of her life, but has never really told the full truth. It makes her sick to think about. But she’s already on the phone with him. She’s already brought it up. She might as well just tell him. Maybe if he decides she’s got too much baggage he’ll break it off, and she’ll have one less thing to feel sick about.</p><p> </p><p>“Well…I think I’ve mentioned before that after my mom died, I went to live with him—my grandfather.”</p><p> </p><p>A deep hum confirms on the other end.</p><p> </p><p>“Well. He wasn’t around much. He worked all the time. And he had these…people taking care of me. They weren’t very good to me.”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t even think they were actual nannies or anything, just people that worked for him who made sure she did her lessons, practiced the piano, stayed out of trouble. There was an endless carousal of them, each one more indifferent to her than the last. Sometimes they were so indifferent they even forgot to feed her, and she’d have to sneak into the kitchen to find something that might fill her belly.</p><p> </p><p>She was caught once, with a box of custard creams clutched in her hands. From that day on, they all called her the scavenger behind her back. The nickname passed from one caretaker to the next. She would hear them whisper about the scavenger, and what a selfish little nuisance she was. The particularly nasty ones would call her that to her face. She hated it. She hated that they saw her as a burden.</p><p> </p><p>“What did they do?” he asks, and his voice is low—that danger from earlier returning.</p><p> </p><p>There’s an endless list of things these people did to her, most of which she's blocked out, completely forgotten. Some things were a bit more subtle, like calling her a nickname she hated. But sometimes her punishments could be harsh. Lashings with a leather belt. Hands whipped with rulers when she messed up her scales. Once she was forced into a closet for hours on end with nothing but a pile of linens to keep her entertained.</p><p> </p><p>But, looking back as an adult, she thinks what truly bothers her the most about these people were the lies they told.</p><p> </p><p>“They lied,” she answers. “They told me things…”</p><p> </p><p>“What kinds of things?”</p><p> </p><p>“Things a nine-year-old shouldn’t know. Frightening things. About the world. And then once I was good and scared, they’d tell me my grandfather would fix it all. That’s why he had to be gone all the time. He was taking care of the bad people. He was making sure only the <em>good </em>people would be rewarded. They painted him to be this…this superhero or something.”</p><p> </p><p>And sometimes he even felt like a superhero to her, too. Whenever he was at the manor, she stuck to him like glue. He didn’t hurt her—not in the same way the other did, anyway. She revealed in his attention—even if it wasn’t good attention. Even if he was cold. Even if he was scolding her for her disheveled clothing or ridiculous hair buns. Even if he was ranting and raving about her <em>whore mother </em>and <em>all the other women like her in this country.</em> There was a part of her that liked him being around.</p><p> </p><p>All these years later she wonders if he didn’t purposely order his staff to neglect her.</p><p> </p><p>She would latch onto him if she had no one else.</p><p> </p><p>“It was weird, y’know?” she laughs a little, but it’s bitter. “It was weird to go from being raised by a woman who loved everything and everyone way too much, and then have to live with such abitter man. He was so full of hate for everyone when I was growing up. He wanted me to have that hate, too. It took him a while to realize I wasn’t like him—that I wasn’t capable of that kind of hate.”</p><p> </p><p>She can remember the constant look of disappointment on his face when she disagreed with him. She tried not to, to stay in his favor. But as he got older she started to resist more and more, and he didn’t like that. Not one bit. Eventually he just sent her away.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, there was one time, I think I was maybe eleven, he came home and found out I’d damaged some of his rose bushes. He was very proud of his garden, it was gorgeous. And <em>massive</em>. It’s probably the size of my whole block in Queens.”</p><p> </p><p>Whenever he would entertain guests, he’d take them to the garden—it was one of his most prized possessions. He cared far more about his roses than he did Rey, that was always clear.</p><p> </p><p>“I was out kicking a football around by myself. One of the gardeners had taken pity on me and decided to play with me for a while. At one point, he kicked it too far, too hard, and I fell into the roses. Scraped up my arms and legs, and smashed the bushes. Petals were everywhere. It was a mess.”</p><p> </p><p>She can practically still feel the scrapes on her body. She draws her left hand up, checking to see if there were still thorns lodged in there after all these years.</p><p> </p><p>“And even though my grandfather knew it was an accident, and new flowers were planted almost immediately, he still felt like I deserved a punishment. That night I went up to my bedroom to find almost everything that was mine destroyed. Everything I had of my mother, and my old life, it was all in pieces and shreds in the middle of the room. I had to clean it all up by myself.”</p><p> </p><p>She recounts her memory of the event with resignation. She’s monotone, emotionless. Ben is silent on the other end, except for his deep breathing. She can almost imagine the tightness and heat in his face. The flare of his nostrils. She just knows he’s angry. Angry <em>for her.</em></p><p> </p><p>Frankly, she’s surprised at how much she’s telling him. But she can’t seem to stop. The memories the words just flow right out of her like a steady stream of consciousness. He just lets her talk, and she’s glad for it.</p><p> </p><p>“He’d fired the gardener, too. I heard he was deported soon after.”</p><p> </p><p>Grandfather had later told her this was an important lesson for her. If she ruined something he loved, he would do the same. She had to be careful. She didn’t play in the garden after that. She didn’t play at all, really. All the joy in her life was consumed by the void that is her grandfather. She didn’t remember what it was like to have fun, to feel loved, until she was a teenager. Until she met Finn.</p><p> </p><p>Meeting Finn saved her life, she’s sure of that. Maybe she should have called him instead. He knows all this. She doesn’t need to expose herself to him because he’s already seen everything.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry.” The warmth from his soft voice comes again, washing away all previous regretful thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs, trying to seem indifferent, despite him being unable to see the gesture.</p><p> </p><p>“It was a long time ago,” she tries to sound dismissive, but her voice shakes. “I haven’t seen him in nearly a decade.”</p><p> </p><p>“But he still manages to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>“He probably always will. But I’m…I’m fine now.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Mostly,</em> she thinks. She’s<em> mostly </em>fine.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe had she’d grown up with some semblance of stability—from either her mother and her grandfather—she wouldn’t be calling another woman’s husband for comfort right now.</p><p> </p><p>“Why’d you call me?” he asks. It’s not a question asked with malice. He just sounds curious.</p><p> </p><p>“Not for pity, or sympathy, if that’s what you were thinking.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just haven’t heard your voice in nearly two weeks. I missed it. And…I wanted to feel better. Talking to you always makes me feel better.”</p><p> </p><p>“Talking to you makes me feel better, too,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>She smiles against the phone. Heat rises in her face, and she pats her palm to her cheek, as if trying to contain it.</p><p> </p><p>“I was surprised to see the garage calling me. I didn’t realize it was you, at first. You’ve never called me before,” he observes.</p><p> </p><p>“No…I wasn’t sure you wanted me to. Just in case…”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” he says. He’s never called her before either. They both know why.</p><p> </p><p>An awkward beat of silence follows. Both of them probably thinking about their spouses. How they would explain this to them if they were caught talking to each other on the phone.</p><p> </p><p>“I missed you these last few weeks.” His voice cutting through the silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Me too,” she admits. She’s missed him far more than she thought she would.</p><p> </p><p>“I just got so busy with work. And then I had that wedding…we just got back this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” she says, the words biting a little too hard. The <em>we </em>in his sentence makes her mouth feel tight, like she’s sucked on something bitter. She doesn’t want to think about him spending a whole week with his wife in Chicago.</p><p> </p><p>“But we’ll see each other tomorrow, right?” he asks. It’s Leia’s birthday, and she and Poe were invited to celebrate.</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>“So not too much longer,” he says, and she doesn’t know if he’s reassuring her or himself.</p><p> </p><p>“No, not too much longer.”</p><p> </p><p>They both stay on the phone, neither willing to say goodbye or hang up first.</p><p> </p><p>A crash from outside the office startles Rey, the phone nearly leaping out of her hands. A series of expletives shouted in multiple different languages can be heard echoing through the garage. The screeching of of her name follows soon after.</p><p> </p><p>“I have to go,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says. But then there’s only more silence, more resistance. “Bye, Rey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bye, Ben.”</p><p> </p><p>She practically has to tear the phone from her ear before she can slowly set it down on the hook. She stares at it for a while after she hangs up. She still feels unsettled, but for a different reason now. Her previous distress has now been replaced with the painful ache of longing.</p><p> </p><p>Not seeing him these last few weeks has been more difficult than she anticipated. Not seeing him because he was busy grading his students’ finals and dealing with typical end of semester fare was one thing. But not seeing him because he was traveling with his wife was another. It makes her skin crawl and her jaw clench to even think about it. She feels petty and jealous—but she <em>is </em>petty and jealous.</p><p> </p><p>She spent the entirety of the last two weeks trying to get Poe to do something with her, but he always claimed he was too tired. But she knew he wasn’t, because he propositioned her for sex almost every night. She feigned her own tiredness, and got away with a series of sloppy hand jobs to keep him placated.</p><p> </p><p>Another cry of her name prompts her to jump out of Chewie’s chair. She springs into action and goes to help Julio clean up the mess he made in the garage, effectively wiping away any bitter, jealous thoughts of Ben with his wife.</p><p> </p><p>She gets Julio to finish the Monte Carlo, and instead goes into the stock room to take inventory. Mindless paperwork is just what she needs. It keeps her distracted, numb.</p><p> </p><p>A half hour passes swiftly. Just when she thinks she’s back to herself, Julio starts shouting for her again.</p><p> </p><p>“What now?” she barks, poking her head through the stock room door.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a customer who wants to speak to you!” Julio barks back.</p><p> </p><p><em>Better not be that bastard with the Tesla from last week, </em>she thinks. She throws her clipboard down and storms out of the stock room. She has the walk of someone preparing for a fight. And she is. Because if that <em>pompous bastard—</em></p><p> </p><p>Rey stumbles over her own feet when she enters the garage.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not the Tesla man.</p><p> </p><p><em>Ben</em> is here. Leaning against a pillar, arms folded over his chest, chatting with Julio. She takes a moment to just stare at him. She’s never seen him look so…casual before. Even on game nights, he’s put together—usually wearing a pair of slacks and button up. But today he’s wearing a black short-sleeved tee, and a pair of track pants. It’s his hair that stands out most to her, though. It’s wild—quite a bit longer than it was when she last saw him, even though it was just two weeks ago. And his chin and upper lip seem to be featuring something new as well.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?” she asks, a bit breathlessly.</p><p> </p><p>Ben clears his throat, and his eyes flick briefly to Julio before he answers.</p><p> </p><p>“I talked to you last week about an estimate on my car. I was coming to check back on that”</p><p> </p><p>The shock hasn’t quite worn off, so it takes her a second to catch on.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Right—the 1977 Mustang, was it?”</p><p> </p><p>“1969,” he pretends to correct her. He gives her a <em>sinful </em>smile. She rolls her eyes, trying not to indulge his immaturity. </p><p> </p><p>“Right, right.” She bites her lip, suppressing her pure giddiness. “Come this way, then. We can talk numbers.” She jerks her head towards the stairs, climbing up to Chewie’s office for the second time today.</p><p> </p><p>He follows behind. They say nothing until the door is closed behind them, and he’s got her pinned against it. She lets out a surprised shriek as he starts to plant kisses across her face. He reaches her lips and she falls into a fit of giggles.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs too, hugs her tightly—so tightly, then pulls his face back to get a better look at her.</p><p> </p><p>God, she’s missed his face. His strange, beautiful face. His beautiful lips. She pushes herself up on her tip-toes and gives him another chaste kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“So what are you <em>really </em>doing here?” she asks, poking his chest with a finger. She slowly pushes him away from her, and turns on the light.</p><p> </p><p>“You showed up randomly at my job,” he says with a shrug, backing away. “I thought I’d return the favor.”</p><p> </p><p>She flashes a coy smile at that, a little laugh escaping her nose.</p><p> </p><p>He backs himself all the way onto Chewie’s desk, leaning on it a little, his hands braced at his sides.</p><p> </p><p>“And I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he adds, with slightly less humor in his voice. He cocks his head a little, eyes observing her closely, waiting for a reaction. She feels herself press further into the door, as if pressured by the weight of his stare.</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” she assures him.</p><p> </p><p>And she is.</p><p> </p><p>She can think of very few moments that she’s felt better. She’s touched he came all the way here to check on her. And she’s elated, alight, that she can see him again. That she can look into his eyes and see his…dare she say it…love for her.</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” he says. He gives her a curt nod, putting her earlier freak out to bed. He’s always been quite good at knowing when and when not to push her.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes leave her to explore Chewie’s office.</p><p> </p><p>“This used to be my dad’s office,” he muses.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?”</p><p> </p><p>“They ran this place together for years. Uncle Chewie took over after…”</p><p> </p><p>Ben seems to get lost in thought, then, and Rey doesn’t want to interrupt him. He takes a deep breath, and a long sigh follows. She isn’t sure what else she can do but comfort <em>him </em>now. So she pushes away from the door and steps closer and closer until she’s mere inches away from him. Then she wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. They stand there for a while, both of them just enjoying their embrace. She thinks this might be her favorite way to pass the time.</p><p> </p><p>“You got a haircut,” he observes after minutes of silence, batting the pony tail hanging at the back of her head. She can’t believe he even noticed with her hair pulled back into such a severe ponytail. It was just a quick trim, too. Took less than fifteen minutes at the local Quick Cuts. Nothing special. Poe hasn’t even noticed yet.</p><p> </p><p>“And you’ve grown yours out.” She grabs his chin and tickles the small beard sprouting there.</p><p> </p><p>“I forgot to bring a razor to Chicago. I thought I’d just let it grow since I don't have to work during the summer.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like it,” she decides, running her hand up his scraggly cheek. “Makes you look like a werewolf.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that something you’re into?” He raises an eyebrow at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Might be,” she says, cheekily.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He doesn't need to know about the stash of smutty supernatural paperbacks she has stashed in a closet at home yet.</span></p><p> </p><p>He rests his hand over hers, both of them cupping his cheek. He turns his head ever so slightly, placing his lips on her palm. A gentle kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t wait one more day to see you,” he murmurs quietly against her hand. “Two weeks is too long to be apart from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Far too long.”</p><p> </p><p>He holds her eyes with his own, the burning lust in them summering into something else, something different but equally as powerful.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” he whispers. She watches his throat bob as he swallows, as if he’s suddenly become tongue-tied, nervous. “I—“</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t get to finish because the door handle rattles, and a hulking form pushes through to interrupt them.</p><p> </p><p>Ben and Rey are like shrapnel, bursting away from each other, in one swift motion, to opposite ends of the small office.</p><p> </p><p>Chewie stands there, with two brown paper grocery bags held in his arms. His blue eyes flick between them, clearly confused and trying to suss out the situation.</p><p> </p><p>“Ben was just here for an estimate.” The lie spews from her like vomit.</p><p> </p><p>She suddenly feels like she doesn’t know what to do with her limbs. She shifts her weight from one leg to the next. She keeps moving them around, clutching them in front of her, then behind her back, then to the front again. Ben looks no different across the room, his hands stuffed in his track pants, working his lower lip with his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“I, uh, came into possession of a classic car. Or my friend did, actually. He wants to fix it up so it’s drivable. I wanted to see if someone here could help.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey cringes at how he stutters over his lie.</p><p> </p><p>Chewie’s eyes shoot between them again, and then he clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. He moves towards his desk and sets the bags down. He picks up a little dog figurine that she didn’t even realize was knocked over.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey’s the best mechanic for the job,” Chewie says. His tells her nothing in way of the man’s feelings. Just the typical grumble slightly tinged with an accent.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, she is, yeah. Well, I should go,” Ben says, sliding towards the door. He turns his head to address Rey. “You’ll—uh—you’ll get back to me? About the car?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. I’ll have that estimate by Thursday.” She remains far cooler than he does.</p><p> </p><p>“Great, great. Okay, then. Uh. Bye, Chew—Uncle Chewie. Rey.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives her one last sheepish look before he disappears from the office. Rey stares at the door, mouth slightly agape, a little shell-shocked. She’s never seen Ben Solo look so out of sorts in the time she’s known him. <span class="Apple-converted-space">He looked like a little boy who was caught stealing from the cookie jar. </span>Which is not too far off from what actually just happened here. </p><p> </p><p>“Everything okay?” Chewie asks. She snaps her mouth shut and turns to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm,” she answers with a tight smile.</p><p> </p><p>The man looks her straight in the eyes and holds her gaze hostage. She’s not sure he’s ever done that before. He usually doesn’t even look up at her when they’re conversing.</p><p> </p><p>But he’s looking at her now. And she’s looking at him. And Rey thinks this is the first time she’s seen something other than passivity on Chewie’s face. There’s emotion there, and though it’s hard to read under all that facial hair, she’s pretty sure it’s disappointment.</p><p> </p><p>She can always recognize a look of disappointment</p><p> </p><p>She goes back to work, and a new, unsettling thought takes over. One that was prompted by Chewie's<em> look</em> and her own guilt.</p><p> </p><p>Her fears are justified, her suspicions are right.</p><p> </p><p>They’re all going to hate her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So...sorry this took over a month to publish. I have been decidedly not good these last few weeks due to a switch in medication and work and just like...the general state of the world. Thank you to everyone who left/sent kind messages. You're all so wonderful. </p><p>Anyway, I had a very different 13th chapter written weeks ago that I was going to post, but something didn't feel right about it, so I never did. And I'm quite glad I didn't. I've had to spend some time reworking my outline (again), and this chapter should be more in line with the story I'm trying to tell. I hope it's at least somewhat satisfying for those have you that have been waiting so long. </p><p>Also, just as a little game (possible spoilers ahead) three more people are going to "catch" Ben and Rey. 100 points to anyone who can guess who these three people will be. Bonus points if you can guess what Palpatine does for a living ;)</p><p> </p><p>TW: Mentions of past child abuse</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Twister</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something is…off.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a heavy energy in Leia’s house. He feels like he’s run straight into the eye of a storm the moment he steps inside. It’s calm and quiet, but there’s an uneasiness lingering. There’s tension.</p><p> </p><p>He’s never been one to believe in all that zodiac hippy dippy mumbo jumbo (as his father would call it) but the <em>aura </em>of the Organa house is definitely dark right now.</p><p> </p><p>They’ve arrived before most everyone except for two people.</p><p> </p><p>The two people he <em>really </em>did not want to see most today: Luke and Chewie.</p><p> </p><p>They both just <em>stare </em>at him when he enters the room. Luke’s look is loaded with contempt. As it always is. And Chewie's with…what he thinks might be disappointment. Disapproval. He wonders if that is how his father would look at him had he caught him in his office yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>But maybe he’s just paranoid.</p><p> </p><p>No one greets each other—Kaydel even picks up on the energy and shifts on her feet uncomfortably. They all just stand in stark silence until his mother comes bustling through the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>“Benny!” she shouts in surprise, clutching her heart. She takes a step back to look him up and down. “God, you look like a vagabond.”</p><p> </p><p>He supposes he <em>does</em> look a little rough compared to the last time she saw him. He didn’t get much sleep last night, and he’s sporting a pair of dark circles under his eyes. And he knows his mother isn’t one for facial hair. Growing up, any time his father tried to grow a mustache, she told him to shave it or she’d file for divorce. He always grew one, and a big bushy beard, whenever they split.</p><p> </p><p>“I keep telling him to shave that rat’s nest off his face, but he refuses,” Kaydel laughs, patting Ben on the cheek. He hopes she didn’t notice his flinch, his automatic reaction to shy away from her touch. He’s never been one for physical affection—or at least he didn't think he was—but he’s been doing that a lot recently—avoiding touching her. Avoiding her touching him. At first he just thought it was the guilt that wouldn’t allow it. But he’s starting to think it might be something else.</p><p> </p><p>Leia’s demeanor flips like a switch, after Kay makes her comment. Her quizzical look to Ben turns into a stunted smile at his wife. She stays quiet for a moment, unblinking, but a fire burning behind her eyes. Ben knows this look. His mother is suppressing something—putting her words through filter after filter until something more savory than her first thought comes out.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose men must also be allowed to experiment with their looks,” Leia says, patting him on the chest. “We should allow Ben some fun, too, hm?”</p><p> </p><p>Kay throws her own stunted smile back at his mother. “Of course,” she says, sliding past both of them to take a between the two silent, surly men seated at opposite ends of the parlor.</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday, ma,” he says with a smile and a light hug, ignoring whatever just transgressed between them.</p><p> </p><p>Leia sighs, and he’s not so sure he didn’t see steam spew out of her nostrils, and loops her arm through his. She gives his arm a squeeze, and pulls him further into the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Come in, come in,” she says, escorting him further towards his uncles. “We’re just waiting on the Damerons, and then we can eat.”</p><p> </p><p>The <em>Damerons. </em>It makes Ben feel a little ill to hear Rey referred to as a <em>Dameron.</em> He, of course, knew that was her last name. He’s not an idiot. But he doesn’t like that he doesn’t know what her name was before. He doesn’t like thinking of her as anything but Rey. His Rey.</p><p> </p><p>An intrusive little thought tells him that Rey <em>Solo</em> sounds much better. Much, much better.</p><p> </p><p>Leia sits down on a love seat, pulling him down with her, keeping their arms still looped.</p><p> </p><p>Trapped. She’s trapping him in this room. She’s trapping him on this seat so he has to sit and make idle conversation, instead of mulling about in the kitchen or upstairs looking for something to fix like he usually does.</p><p>
  
</p><p>He’s suddenly shockingly ungrateful that Leia’s birthday parties, unlike her Christmas parties, are always rather small affairs. As much as Ben can’t stand Leia’s politician friends, he’d be grateful to have them as a distraction right now. Someone to talk to so he wouldn’t have to face his current options. Instead, they are all sitting here in painful silence.</p><p> </p><p>Ben thinks it is probably because it’s not just <em>her </em>birthday, it’s Luke’s too, them being twins and all. If it were up to Leia, she’d use her birthday as another excuse to fill her house with friends and colleagues, and anyone else she needs to schmooze at the time. But if there is one thing Luke can’t stand, it’s a party, and he definitely wouldn’t show up to an event that centers around him. So every year Leia is insistent that their small family must gather for dinner, and <em>get along.</em></p><p> </p><p>Leia makes polite conversation with everyone, while Ben obsessively checks his phone. Time passes, no texts come in—not that he really expected any. She rarely texts.</p><p> </p><p>Leia scolds him for “being on his phone while there is company over,” so he takes to staring at the parquet flooring. He has a memory of rolling his hot wheels up and down the zig zags of the wood.</p><p> </p><p>Alone. He was always playing alone.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders what Rey played as a kid.</p><p> </p><p>Yesterday, she’d talked about her childhood in a way she never has before. He left the shop with a violent urge to find her grandfather and tear his eyes out. It wasn’t just her words that upset him. It was the way she said those words.The redness and brimming tears in her eyes. The tightness of her mouth. She looked like a shell of herself. It scared him to see her like that.</p><p> </p><p>He’s seen a few different versions of her, depending on where they are and who they are around. But he’d like to think that the Rey with him is the “true” Rey. That Rey is confident, self-assured, <em>strong. </em>What kind of man is her grandfather that he could have this effect on her?</p><p> </p><p>An agonizing twenty minutes goes by and the doorbell finally chimes.<em> The Damerons </em>walk in a few minutes later. He can’t get a good look at her—his mother is standing right in his line of sight. He can tell her hair is down, straight as a pin. He can tell she’s wearing a pair of jean capris and a t-shirt. But he can’t see her face. He can’t see what mask she’s wearing today.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey, dear!” Leia bellows, as she goes to kiss the girl on both cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry we’re late,” Poe says.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no bother!” His mother waves him off, and keeps her attention on Rey. “You got your hair cut!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, erm, yeah, I did.” Rey tucks her hair behind her ears nervously.</p><p> </p><p>“You did?” Poe asks, flipping his wife’s hair around like a toddler. Ben scoffs—out loud.</p><p> </p><p>Her <em>husband</em> didn’t even notice. They live together and he didn’t even notice. Ben noticed. Leia noticed. But Poe didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Overcome with smugness, Ben folds his arms across his chest and sinks back into the sofa, man-spreading. He stews in that position until everyone is settled in the room once again. He looks up briefly, only to catch Rey staring at him from across the parlor.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes don’t look right. They’re puffy and cold and flit away from him as soon as he catches her gaze. Ben sits up and leans forward, trying to be just the slightest bit closer to her.</p><p> </p><p>Conversation flows around them, but Ben isn’t paying attention. Luke and Leia open their presents, and thanks are past around, but he’s barely able to muster up a “you’re welcome.” All he can do is unabashedly stare at Rey until he finally snags her gaze again. When he does, his heart drops into his stomach. It’s clearly realized something before his brain does. That expression on her face…She’s back, that other Rey.</p><p> </p><p>The woman standing before him is the Rey that only shows her face when she’s panicked, confused,<em> guilty. </em>The Rey that pretended she didn’t know him when they first met again. The Rey that greeted him on Super Bowl Sunday.</p><p> </p><p>Ben isn’t even hungry by the time everyone gathers around Leia’s extravagant dining table. He’d probably have hurled already if hewasn’t running on an empty stomach. He keeps looking at her, <em>for </em>her, and she just isn’t there.</p><p> </p><p>What changed? Yesterday they were so…Well, he felt they were in sync. He had missed her so, so much while he was in Chicago. So much he felt a constant ache in his chest, and that ache didn’t dull until he had her in his arms again.</p><p> </p><p>And he was ready in that moment. Ready to risk it all. Ready to let the past die, and begin a new future with her. The idea that as long as he was with her, everything would be okay consumed him.</p><p> </p><p>He loves her.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>loves</em> her.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to push that thought into her mind from across the dining table, but she wont even look at him. She’s pretending to be engrossed in whatever conversation is dominating the room.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know why he would move there of all places,” Leia’s voice cuts through his telepathic attempts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He's not sure what the hell they're all talking about, but he tries to zero in on the subject. </span></p><p> </p><p>“Well, there's a lot of opportunity there” Kaydel coughs. “We’ve talked about moving to California recently.” She says it so casually, as if that isn’t a massive bomb to drop on his mother.</p><p> </p><p>Rey. He glances over to see her still as stone, staring at his wife like she’s just spit in her face. He glances at his mother, then, to see her wearing an eerily similar expression.</p><p> </p><p>“That was all hypothetical,” Ben assures his mother—assures Rey, trying to ease the heated situation that’s about to brew.</p><p> </p><p>Kay was half-drunk when she mentioned it at the wedding. A move to California. She was spewing all sorts of wild ideas. A completely different life for them. She always gets dreamy when she’s drunk.</p><p> </p><p>But it was during this discussion that he realized something. Something he’s known for a while now, but didn’t fully grasp it until she started scheming without him. When he thinks of the future, of what he wants for <em>his </em>future, Kay just…isn’t there. Someone else is.</p><p> </p><p>He thought about breaking it off then and there, but it would be cruel to do that to her during her friend’s wedding. He wanted to wait to talk to Rey first anyway. He wanted her to know where he was. That even when he leaves Kay, there’s no pressure on her to continue this. Her pace. Always at her pace.</p><p> </p><p>But the only chance he’d had to speak to her was yesterday. And it was interrupted by the man currently staring a hole into Ben’s temple.</p><p> </p><p>“It still is hypothetical,” Kay assures everyone. “A friend of mine mentioned a business she’s trying to start in San Diego. She asked me if I’d be interested in joining her. I haven’t committed to anything, of course. I love my job and my life here. It was just an idea.” His wife smiles politely and shrugs, but he can see underneath that cool demeanor. She looks like she was just told she’ll shoot her eye out with that Red Rider BB Gun she so desired.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m against it,” Leia says, predictably. She leans back in her chair and places her hands flat on the table, at either side of her plate.</p><p> </p><p>He looks over at Rey again. Her mouth is in a thin, tight line, and she’s gripping her fork so hard he can see the whites of her knuckles. She stabs a crouton so hard it pulverizes into garlicky dust. He wonders if she’s imagining that crouton to be his head right now. He wouldn’t blame her. But a part of him is…pleased to see this reaction from her. She never reveals much of her feelings at game nights. He’s never quite sure if she’s jealous or not. Both of them have been very good at keeping their cool.</p><p> </p><p>“I think it might be good for Ben to get out of New York,” Poe says. “He could use some sun."</p><p> </p><p>Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Leia scoffs too. “Why trade one city for another? He’s got a life here. His job is here—“</p><p> </p><p>“California has plenty of fine universities,” Kaydel says, voice edging on snapping.</p><p> </p><p>“Though not as fine as NYU,” Luke chimes.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve heard Southern California is a pretty good place to raise a family, too,” Poe offers, happily stuffing his face with bread, ignorant of the underlying issues currently making their way to the surface. The look Rey gives her husband is violently venomous. Ben is sure Poe will die on the spot from that one look, but he doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p> </p><p>“If it appeases you, Leia, I am also warming up to the idea of children,” Ben’s heart drops into his stomach again.</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s venomous look has turned into something else all together. She’s looking at Kay with desperation. Like she’s lost something. Or like Kay’s stolen something, and she’s desperate to get it back.</p><p> </p><p>“Why would that appease me? What’s the point of them having grandchildren if they’re going to be at the opposite side of the country?”</p><p> </p><p>“You could certainly come to California, Leia. To visit. Or to live, eventually.” The tight smile returns to Kay’s face.</p><p> </p><p>Leia audibly gasps, throwing her hand over her heart. Offended at the very idea. Leia Organa is a New Yorker, heart and soul. She would never, in a million years, live in California.</p><p> </p><p>“As Ben said, it’s all hypothetical.” His wife stabs a tomato in her salad, it bursts, and the juice leaks all over the plate. “For now,” she adds, a rueful smile.</p><p> </p><p>An awkward silence falls over the table. Nothing but chewing and swallowing, chewing and swallowing.</p><p> </p><p>“These cucumber sandwiches are delicious, Leia,” Rey’s sweet British lilt cuts through the tension. It’s the first time she’s spoken since they sat down to eat.</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Leia asks. “I think they’re bland as all hell, but Luke insisted on having them. They’re his favorite.”</p><p> </p><p>“The ones at work are my favorite,” Luke grunts. “These are bland.”</p><p> </p><p>“I find it hard to believe that some miserable college student being paid minimum wage at NYU makes better cucumber sandwiches than Charles. He went to culinary school in France, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why thank you, mum,” Charles’ own British lilt pops out of thin air.</p><p> </p><p>“Many true things are hard to believe, Leia. The food on campus is very good, actually. Wouldn’t you say, Ben?”</p><p> </p><p>Every head turns back to Ben, but he keeps his gaze fixed on his plate.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t had it much,” he shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“I had a cup of clam chowder there once, years back,” Kay chimes in. “It was actually quite good!”</p><p> </p><p>”What did <em>you</em> think of it?” Luke asks.</p><p> </p><p>The room is silent again, and Ben follows his uncle’s gaze straight to Rey.</p><p> </p><p>Ben’s never broken out in a cold sweat so quickly. He thinks he’s gone temporarily blind. His vision narrows, sparkles, and zeroes in on Rey. She’s tense, frozen, her spoon suspended in the air in front of her, eyes wide and staring at Luke.</p><p> </p><p>Caught. They’re caught. Oh fuck.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes briefly flick to him before she answers.</p><p> </p><p>“Erm, all I’ve had is the coffee,” she says, her voice schooled into impassivity. She pulls the spoon into her mouth and swallows the soup. “It was fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“The coffee isn’t the best, I’ll admit to that.” Luke seems to move on, digging back into his salad, and turning to whisper something to Chewie.</p><p> </p><p>He hopes that no one else will pick up on it. He hopes the conversation will just move forward. That no one will notice the bomb he’s just dropped.</p><p> </p><p>But Ben has never been that lucky.</p><p> </p><p>“When were you at NYU?” Poe asks. Ben is relieved that the other man’s voice is casual. Curious, sure, but no hint of suspicion as he continues to stuff his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm, a few months ago,” she says, filling her spoon with more chili. “I was in the area. The campus looked so pretty I thought I’d stop in.”</p><p> </p><p>“What were you doing in—"</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so glad you went!” Leia interrupts exuberantly. “How did you like it? I hope Ben didn’t bore you too much.”</p><p> </p><p>“You went to one of his classes?” Kaydel inquires. She doesn’t sound suspicious either, but she’s always been pretty good at hiding her true feelings. She’s interviewed some of the slimiest people in politics—<em>of course </em>she’s good at hiding her feelings.</p><p> </p><p>Ben should chime in. He can’t leave her to talk herself out of his, can he?</p><p> </p><p>“She did,” he confirms, poking around at his own plate. “One of my lit classes. I don’t remember which one.”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe it was one of the Freshman courses. I remember the other students were relatively young,” Rey says, her voice schooled into something light and innocent. “I felt like an old maid.” She laughs lightly, so does everyone else. And oh, she’s such a good actress. “And no, he didn’t bore me, Leia. It was quite interesting, actually. It was fun. Almost made me rethink my stance on going back to university, just as you predicted.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m so glad you took my advice,” Leia says.</p><p> </p><p>“You want to go back to school?” Poe inquires next to her. He’s taken on an erratic energy, staring at her like he’s not sure who he’s looking at.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he hears her whisper sharply. “Can we talk about this later?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you—"</p><p> </p><p>“Guess who I saw near the Cheesecake Factor at Queens Center the other day,” Rey says, quite loudly, redirecting the conversation and effectively shutting her husband down.</p><p> </p><p>“Who?” Leia bellows, always a glutton for gossip.</p><p> </p><p>“The Hutts.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, those slimeballs,” Leia scoffs. She seamlessly goes into a rant about the infamous mafia family that frequent the streets of Queens. Ben doesn’t even have time to be impressed with Rey’s skill at redirecting that conversation, because he notices Chewie.</p><p> </p><p>Uncle Chewie has been a silent observer throughout the exchange—eating his food and acting as if he’s not even listening.</p><p> </p><p>But now Chewie isn’t eating. Now, Chewie staring at Ben. It’s a scrutinizing glare, and there’s something behind it that he’s never seen behind his uncle’s unsettling blue eyes. The other man’s eyes linger on his for a moment that feels like a millennia, and then look away.</p><p> </p><p>Ben’s feels like time is both frozen and rushing around him at light speed. He’s not present—he wonders if this is how Rey feels.</p><p> </p><p>Ben’s unsettled for the rest of the evening, and is more than relieved when Kay says they have to leave. Poe suggests he and his wife leave too. But Ben can’t go until he’s talked to Rey. He finds her standing in front of the coat closet in the foyer, and he walks up behind her.</p><p> </p><p>“Can we talk?” he whispers, pretending to sift through the jackets. Her shoulders tense at the sound of his voice, and he tries to quell the hurt that it brings him. “Not right now. But later. I have…I need to tell you something.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes stay fixated on row of coats but she subtly nods at him. He pulls a dark grey jacket out and tugs it on before slipping out the door.</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t until he gets home that he realizes that the jacket he’s wearing is not his. He didn’t even bring a jacket to his mothers. He pulls the collar up and sniffs. The scent is faded, but he can still smell the familiar, musky scent of Cubans and balsam.</p><p> </p><p>He never thought he looked much like his father before, though people would tell him he did all the time growing up. But as he stares at himself in the mirror leaning against an unfinished wall, he thinks he can see it now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>His phone pings around 8:30 at night. It’s not a text, but a location drop from Captain Walton. It leads him to a 7/11 somewhere in between Brooklyn and Queens.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take him very long to find her in the small shop. She’s standing in front of a shelf of snacks, staring blankly at the colorful bags.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” he says. Her shoulders jump again—another needle in his heart.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn’t move. She stares at the bags for a while longer, then closes her eyes. She sighs, and it’s resigned. A dreadful sound. The aura in this 7/11 is blacker than it was at his mother’s house.</p><p> </p><p>“I think…I think we should stop,” she finally blurts out. She cracks open one eye to glance at him.</p><p> </p><p>The muscles around his mouth are twitching. He’s suddenly unable to talk, and it’s a struggle to maintain a cool, calm persona.</p><p> </p><p>“Just for a while. Let’s just try to be friends. Just to see…”</p><p> </p><p>His face continues twitching, like he’s lost all control of his muscles. He can’t look her in the eye either, staring at her shoes instead. An old Radiohead song is leaking statically from the speakers above them. He takes a deep breath, and starts nodding profusely, like he’s a malfunctioning machine.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says tentatively, still nodding at his shoes. He’s trying to convince himself it’s okay. It’s okay that she wants this. It’s okay that she doesn’t want him. It’s okay that they go at her pace, and her pace only. This isn’t a normal situation. It’s okay. It’s okay.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you mad?” She asks, interrupting the turmoil within him.</p><p> </p><p>“No—no, I’m not mad.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s not. He’s not mad. He can’t be mad at her for being confused, hesitant.</p><p> </p><p>But he does feel like a fool. A fucking fool.</p><p> </p><p>When they first started this, he’d expected her to end it at any moment. But he thought it had been long enough, that they were happy enough with each other, to keep it going. Forever, even. Just yesterday he’d been ready to confess his love.</p><p> </p><p>Where would they be right now had Chewie not interrupted them? Would she have just rejected him yesterday, or would they already be planning the honeymoon?</p><p> </p><p>“Good. I—I don’t want you to be mad. I just think…this is probably the right time, y’know? With what happened with Chewie yesterday…and then at dinner. It’s good to stop before we…before we do something we can’t take back.”</p><p> </p><p>He finally looks up at her, then. The nodding has stopped, his muscles have stopped spasming, and now all he can feel is numbness. It takes him a moment, but he catches her meaning.</p><p> </p><p>Sex. She means sex. They haven’t had sex.</p><p> </p><p>Because what she just said…Well, clearly they haven’t been on the same page. He’d fooled himself into thinking that her visits, her kisses, her loaded looks all meant something different. He knew she was taking this slower than he was. He knew she was more hesitant, but clearly this has been much more to him than it was to her if she thinks that their time together can just be…be taken back.</p><p> </p><p>He takes a deep breath before he speaks.</p><p> </p><p>“You think that everything we’ve done can be taken back?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s…that’s not really what I meant.” She’s the one twitching now. Her hands fidgeting, moving from her jacket pockets to her jean pockets and back again.</p><p> </p><p>“I know what you meant, Rey. I’m not an idiot.” He runs his hands through his hair and has to turns away from her for the briefest moment.</p><p> </p><p>“We were stupid to think we wouldn’t get caught at some point. It’s best just to get ahead of this, don’t you think?”</p><p> </p><p>“There are other ways to get ahead of it.” He hopes she catches his meaning. He hopes she understands that he’s ready to move on, move forward, together.</p><p> </p><p>“You<em> are </em>mad,” she accuses instead, raising her tone just a little.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not mad, I’m just…a little upset right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Same thing,” she mutters petulantly.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not the same thing. Who—who told you that? I can be upset with you without being mad at you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I don’t want you to be upset either.”</p><p> </p><p>“How am I supposed to feel, Rey? You’d rather give up than—”</p><p> </p><p>At that moment, a teenage boy, listening to some very loud incoherent music, walks down the isle. He and Rey go silent, and stay still as the kid picks out a bag of chips, flits his eyes between them, and passes one of those judgmental looks that only teenage kids can muster before walks away.</p><p> </p><p>Ben realizes this is not a conversation that should be happening in front of a shelf of Takis, but this is just how things are with them, right? Doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, in the wrong places.</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head, visible tears trail down her cheeks. “I just—I’m scared, Ben. I’ve never done something like this before.”</p><p><br/>“And you think I have?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, that’s not what I meant!” She raises her voice again, it echoes, even in this tiny shop. “I just feel bad all the time. When I’m not with you, it fucking eats me up inside. I’m scared I’ll let something slip, or that we’ll get caught. That we’ll lose everything. And I know that if we go any further I won’t be able to live with myself. I can’t feel like this anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>He understands her. The guilt consumes him too, but the hope…that’s what’s kept him going. And now it’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>He takes a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>“You can justify our relationship to yourself however you want to make yourself feel better, I can’t stop you. But you can’t pretend like everything we’ve done wasn’t <em>bad</em> just because we didn’t have sex. We did everything but.”</p><p> </p><p>He’d even argue that everything they <em>did</em> do was much, much worse than sex. What they were doing wasn’t just a craving for pleasure or release. It was for love. Or at least it was for him.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” she says. Her voice shakes, and he notices the well of water building in her eyes. “I know this, Ben. It’s why we have to stop. I can’t go back—”</p><p> </p><p>“You really think your guilt will disappear just because we aren’t together anymore?”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t answer. She just tries to discreetly wipe her tears, her runny nose.</p><p> </p><p>Her silence is everything. She really can’t see any other route, can she? Why is she fine with living her miserable life. Why is she settling? Why did she even agree to this? Why?</p><p> </p><p>“What we were even doing this for, then, Rey? What was the end goal for this?”</p><p> </p><p>She remains silent. Painfully silent. She stares at her shoes, shuffling her feet ever so slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“I think we are just…two people who like playing games too much.”</p><p> </p><p>A game. She thinks it was all a game.</p><p> </p><p>To her, their relationship was the one game she felt she couldn’t win, so she’s just given up.</p><p> </p><p>“It was fun while it lasted,” she adds with a shrug. So nonchalant. That's what hurts the most.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t even speak. He’s afraid a sound akin to a dying animal would escape his mouth. Because that’s how he feels. Like he’s dying.</p><p> </p><p>It takes every ounce of his strength, his willpower to walk out of that 7/11. <span class="Apple-converted-space">To pretend he doesn't notice her shrink down into a tight crouch and fold herself into a ball. </span>To walk away from her. To walk away from the future he was so excited about just yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not sure how he gets home, but when he finds himself in his front hall, he’s relieved to find the house dark and empty. He goes up to the shitty dungeon-like guest room and starts ripping the scarlet red wallpaper off the wall. He discards it mindlessly. Messily. But it makes him feel better. When he’s finished stripping the room, he’s left with an ugly barren wall.</p><p> </p><p>Ben Solo thought he knew what it was to have his heart broken. Selena, Jen, Bazine. That was nothing. They were nothing.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know heartbreak before. But he definitely knows it now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, uhm...sorry again for the prolonged absence. I wish I could say I'll be more consistent from now on, but life is so unpredictable. But I'll definitely try to get the next chapter out soon, since I know this is a fairly disappointing ending.</p><p>Oh and sorry for this chapter lol. For those of you worried about/annoyed with wishy washy Rey (spoilers ahead) *this* does not last long. Minds get made up and choices will be made in the very next chapter. Please don't be too mad at her in the meantime. </p><p>Anyway, Happy New Year to all of you! I hope 2021 isn't a fucking garbage heap like 2020 was &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Solitaire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>See endnote for possible trigger warning</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two weeks without him was hard, but a month is absolute torture.</p><p> </p><p>At every turn she aches to call him, text him, <em>see </em>him.</p><p> </p><p>But she can’t.</p><p> </p><p>Because she’s trying to do the right thing. By her husband. By Kaydel. By Leia and Chewie. And by herself, she supposes. It’s self-preservation. Who cares if she’s sad right now? She’s got to think about her future. She needs to know she’ll have someone to care about her. She needs that commitment. She’s spent so much time building this life—and it’s a good one, it really is. She can’t just give it all up for a set of molten brown eyes and big hands.</p><p> </p><p>But without those eyes, those hands, that mouth, and the sweet words that came out of it, she feels like she doesn’t even exist anymore. Like she’s floating outside her own body, watching herself be miserable.</p><p> </p><p>Though she supposes it’s all her fault, right? She asked for this. She wanted this…didn’t she? Things will go back to normal. And Ben might even forgive her. He’s a good man. The best man.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll get over it. She will.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She lays in bed for the first few days. She can’t help it. She can’t will herself to move. All she can do is sleep and cry and cry in her sleep.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t have work, nor does she have anywhere else to be. She hasn’t got anyone to talk to since her husband is off in Oregon or something. She certainly can’t face Leia right now. She tries calling Rose and Finn once, but they don’t pick up.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> They called her back the next day but she didn’t have the energy to answer her phone.</span></p><p> </p><p>And game night is undoubtedly cancelled for the foreseeable future. She’s already put in her excuse not to attend this week, and everyone else seemed to follow suit with their own excuses.</p><p> </p><p>When Poe finally does come home, the first thing he does is hop into the bed, bouncing her out of the small divot in the mattress she’d embedded herself into. He has that stale smell of someone who has been sitting around an airport, sleeping in hotels, eating fast food, and traveling for days.</p><p> </p><p>It makes her want to vomit…though she’s pretty sure she doesn’t smell much better. She might’ve only showered once in the last few days.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to kiss her. And though she’s made a promise to herself to be a more committed wife, she naturally turns and pulls the covers over her face. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to kiss her lips, he settles for the back of her greasy head.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” he asks, pushing himself onto his elbows, still facing her.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she says honestly.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong? You on your Period?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br/><br/></span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">She struggles not to roll her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“No. Just feeling poorly,” she mumbles into the sheet.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to snuggle into her again, but she shoulders him off. He takes it in stride, though, and even laughs before calling her “Little Miss Moody.” He thankfully then goes to shower that smell off him. She makes sure her face is absent of tears and pretends to be asleep before he comes back out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When she returns to work, she thoroughly avoids Chewie, along with most of the other guys she works with, as none of them have an empathetic bone in their body when it comes to her. They’re too used to her acting like “one of the guys.” She’s a “cool girl.” If they got a good look at her red eyes and deep, dark circles, they’d rib her for days.</p><p> </p><p>She does everything she can to keep her mind and body occupied. No wallowing. No crying. No creating wild scenarios in her head. She’s done enough of that. She just needs to stay active.</p><p> </p><p>Her production levels at work go up immensely. She even cleans the bathrooms and storage closets and dark dusty corners during her breaks, instead of sitting around on her phone and eating idly like she normally would.</p><p> </p><p>She keeps her mind active at home, too. She finishes <em>both </em>seasons of <em>Succession</em> in one sitting, her eyes itching and her back tingling with numbness by the time she finishes. She joins an online forum to discuss the show, and discovers the wonders of fanfiction.</p><p> </p><p>She also falls a “Disney Adult” rabbit hole on Youtube, jealousy eating her alive that she’s never been. She’d wanted to ride Space Mountain so badly as a kid she’d tried her own version of it in her living room with a laundry basket and a shitty old treadmill. That saga ended with a hole in the wall and a very cross mum and an even more cross landlord. She briefly becomes a slave to The Mouse and buys a bunch of random shit she doesn’t need to feed her inner child.</p><p> </p><p>She feels empty when the boxes finally arrive.</p><p> </p><p>Poe asks her to play board games with him—she suspects it’s his way trying to cheer her up and replace game night—and she tries to enjoy it, she really does. But he’s so bad at playing anything that it’s not even fun to win.</p><p> </p><p>She struggles to find her passion for games again.Especially because as she plays with her husband, her mind constantly strays to what <em>Ben</em> is doing at that moment. She wonders if everything’s back to normal with him. If he can still look his wife in the eyes, and sleep in the same bed. If he’s struggling with the emptiness…the loss…the same way she is.</p><p> </p><p>She barely sleeps anymore. She did too much of that already. She’s sick of it.</p><p> </p><p>It’s definitely not because when she sleeps, she dreams. And all her dreams are about the same thing—the same person—and a different life.</p><p> </p><p>As the month passes, she wears herself thin. Quite literally, as the scale tells her she’s lost two kilos. She’s got the constant sniffles and gastrointestinal issues she’s never had before. She keeps telling herself she’ll take her vitamins and eat a goddamn salad tomorrow. But when tomorrow comes, she forgets the vitamins and opts for the far more enticing frozen pepperoni pizza. She gorges herself with the pizza and eats nothing else for days. She doesn’t even notice the hunger.</p><p> </p><p>And despite her attempts to stay out of sight, out of mind at work, Chewie eventually takes notice of her. He calls her into his office one evening, just before her shift ends and she can escape back to her house.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as she enters, she cringes at the memory of the last time she was in here. She pleads for the numbness she’s mustered these last few weeks to return. But that pang still hits her heart, making it beat erratically.</p><p> </p><p>She cringes even harder when she sees the face of her boss. Chewie has the aura of a single dad about to give his only pre-pubescent daughter the birds and the bees talk. He can’t quite look her in the eye, and his large hands are clasped in front of him on his desk, his fingers fidgeting.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you…” he starts, then pauses for a cough. “Are you good?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” she lies. She’s bad. She’s very bad. Why has she let herself get so bad? Years and years she could’ve—</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t seem fine,” he interrupts a deadly spiral.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I am. I know I dropped that equipment this morning but nothing broke. It was just an accident. I cleaned it up—”</p><p> </p><p>He coughs again, “That’s not what I’m referring to.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s gonna vomit.</p><p> </p><p>“And what <em>are</em> you referring to?” She’ll just feign innocence. Yeah, that’ll work. There’s no way someone as non-confrontational as him will bring up what he saw—what he suspects. This’ll shut him down. Then she can go home. Back to her bed.</p><p> </p><p>He unclasps his hands and starts to rub at the scraggly hair on his chin. He lifts his eyes to finally look at her face, but he still doesn’t quite meet her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Take some time off.” It doesn’t sound like a demand, but it doesn’t sound like a simple suggestion either.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not really necessary. I—"</p><p> </p><p>“Take some time off,” he repeats, this time slightly more serious. “Figure…<em>things</em> out. Come back when you’re more yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth parts, but she’s not sure what to say to that. She didn’t think Chewie paid much attention to her before this incident to know who she really was.</p><p> </p><p>He reaches out to her, both his hands covering her right hand. He holds it there, clasping it gently like a baby bird, until the shaking stops. She didn't think a man as big as him was capable of such gentleness. And she's not entirely sure, but she thinks his eyes look a little misty. </p><p> </p><p>“Um beijo,” he says in his native language before letting her go. She’s not sure what it means, but he’s said it to her before, usually when she’s leaving work. She takes it as a dismissal, and leaves the office.</p><p> </p><p>She spends the next few days off thinking his words and the way he held her hand. If she’s not mistaken, it felt like love. Not romantic love. Platonic love. Familial love. Love that forgives.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She heeds Chewie’s advice and spends the next few days trying to…find herself again. She does start to take her vitamins and learns a few easy, healthy recipes that she doesn’t completely fuck up while cooking. She starts to feel better—physically, at least.</p><p> </p><p>Feeling better mentally is a bit of a different challenge. She knows she has to repair things with Poe, which she’s sure is going to be difficult because he’s so clueless that he doesn’t know there’s anything broken to begin with. But if she broke her heart and Ben’s just to preserve this life with Poe, she needs to try.</p><p> </p><p>She starts by overcompensating—being overly nice to him. She cooks for him, asks him to join her on her jogs, and then even indulges in a quick fuck.</p><p> </p><p>But somehow it all feels wrong. And not just because she can’t come. As she lay on her stomach with his come cooling on her back, she feels sick with guilt. Not to Poe, she’ll always feel guilty when it comes to him. But to Ben. She feels far guiltier towards him.</p><p> </p><p>Which...is not how things are supposed to be. She made her choice. She chose <em>this </em>life. When is she going to feel okay again?</p><p> </p><p>So the next day she avoids Poe. And then she feels guilty again, so she goes back to overcompensating.</p><p> </p><p>Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.</p><p> </p><p>And eventually, Poe notices her erratic behavior too.</p><p> </p><p>He’s sweet about it, really, and she wishes he wouldn’t be. It makes her feel so much worse. He tries a million different things to cheer her up, despite not knowing what she’s so distraught about. He leaves her a big basket of purple flowers on the counter one morning, and she appreciates it, though she's not really the kind of woman who likes flowers. The color is pretty, though, so she hangs the basket out on her front porch. It makes her feel just a little better, but this effort to cure her was still futile. </p><p> </p><p>She can’t help but feel she doesn’t deserve him. The guilt weighs heavy on her shoulders that whole week.</p><p> </p><p>One night, while they are watching some badly done crime documentary, he tries to cuddle up with her on the couch, pulling himself under her blanket. She ignores him, sinking further into the cushion, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She hopes he’ll slide back over to his side and not say whatever he’s going to say.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you…are you pregnant?” he asks. And she hates that theres a little twinge of hope in that voice.</p><p> </p><p>Rey rips the blanket from her face, and stares back at him. Horrified.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” she shrieks. “No!”</p><p> </p><p>“Relax, I wasn’t calling you fat,” he says, pinching the skin above her hip. His fingers are bloody cold, and she shimmies away from him.</p><p> </p><p>He starts talking, probably trying to justify his comment, but she doesn’t hear.</p><p> </p><p>Because she’s horrified. Not by the idea of having kids. She’d like a brat or two. Someday.</p><p> </p><p>No, she’s horrified by the thought of having kids <em>now…</em>With<em> him.</em></p><p><br/>“So what’s wrong, then?” he asks, poking at her more, trying to get her to smile like he is.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been having an affair,” she blurts out, comedically fast.</p><p> </p><p>His brows knit in confusion, and for a tiny slip of a moment she feels oddly serene. She’s relieved. She’s confessed. It’s not a burdensome secret to harbor anymore. She can start to heal.</p><p> </p><p>She’s free. She’s free.</p><p> </p><p>But then he bursts out in laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“Good one, hun,” he says. A joke. He thought she was joking. “But seriously. You should probably go to a doctor. I’m worried about you.” He pinches her in the side again, and then rolls onto his back .</p><p> </p><p>She goes blank, not sure how to respond but emit a nervous little laugh herself.</p><p> </p><p>She confessed. And he laughed it off.</p><p> </p><p>A stark moment of clarity washes over her. The clouds that have been in her mind for weeks finally clear.</p><p> </p><p>How…typical of him. How predictable. </p><p> </p><p>She sits up in bed and stares at his face—an admittedly very handsome face, sometimes it’s easy to be with him because of that face—and thinks about him for a change.</p><p> </p><p>He’s been like this their for her entire relationship. Maybe she expected he’d change a little, maybe he’d grow with her, and they’d be on the same wavelength after all these years. But he’s been the same person for the last five years. He knew who he was when they first got together—he was <em>thirty-three,</em> with over a decade of life experience on her. She was only twenty-one. She didn’t even eat vegetables back then. She didn’t know what she truly wanted. She just knew she needed out. Out of England. Away from her grandfather. Away from the crippling anxiety that came with having to be alone in the world.</p><p> </p><p>She’s been unfair to him for a lot longer than she initially thought.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not cruel, he’s not unkind, he’s not even uncaring—his multiple attempts at trying to cheer her up the last few weeks are a testament to that. He tries. He does.</p><p> </p><p>Just not in the way she needs him to.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s not entirely his fault he doesn’t understand her. She’s never <em>truly</em> let him.</p><p> </p><p>Poe Dameron is not for her.</p><p> </p><p>He’s for someone else. Someone who might actually like his jokes, and is interested in cars and sports and all the stupid faff that makes him happy. Someone who isn’t as damaged and sensitive as her, and can deal with his constant lack of awareness. Someone who will love with him the way he deserves.</p><p> </p><p>She’s got to let him go. Not just because she wants to be with someone else. But because she owes it to both of them not to waste another year of their lives on a relationship that isn’t going to go anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll tell him. She will. But she needs to find the right time. Maybe when she knows he won’t have to safely carry a plane full of people from one location to another the next day.</p><p> </p><p>And maybe when she’s more herself. When she’s ready to accept the change. When she is more mentally prepared for a completely different future than the one she resigned herself to.</p><p> </p><p>Fear isn’t easy to get over. She deeply fears the isolation and the judgment and the failure of it all.</p><p> </p><p>She just hopes she can overcome this fear before that different future decides it wants nothing to do with her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She’s never called him before.</p><p> </p><p>Her fingers have hovered over that stupid codename—Margaret—many times since they started this…When she’s had hard days at work. When she’s had a row with Poe. When she gets along with Poe but feels guilty about it.</p><p> </p><p>When she just feels lonely. Which seems to be…all the time.</p><p> </p><p>But she’s never actually pressed the green button. Even when they<em> were </em>speaking, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was always texts—they were easier. Short and sweet, easy to control. But a call? She was afraid that his wife would pick up and she wouldn’t know what to do—what to say.</p><p> </p><p>These last few weeks without him, she’s realized how much she hasn’t used her voice the last few years. At least not to tell any truths. She’s been quiet and so full of lies. She’s been lying to herself, and to everyone around her, well before she started up with Ben. The most common of her lies being <em>I’m fine.</em></p><p> </p><p>She never used to be quiet and full of lies. At school hey called her “The Mouth,” partially because she has quite a wide mouth, but mostly because she was a motormouth. And when she lived with Finn, all her free time was spent gabbing with him and Rose.</p><p> </p><p>But she’s discovered that she’s missed her voice. It’s like he took it with him when he left her in that 7/11. It is like every time they were together she dug deep inside to parts of herself she forgot or didn’t even know she had. And then she gave him parts of herself without even realizing it. Piece by piece. And without him she just…doesn’t feel whole.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s dangerous or toxic or codependent. But Chewie told her to find herself again. And she's not sure she can be herself without the person on the other end of the line.</p><p> </p><p>He takes forever to pick up the phone, so much so that she almost hangs up, but then a frantic “Hello? Hello? Rey?” comes from the other end.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” she says—squeaks, really.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” His voice is still slightly frantic.</p><p> </p><p>“Erm, yes,” she says, trying not to sound confused by the concern.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank God,” he sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not to point out the obvious, but we haven’t talked in weeks. And…you’ve never called before.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Right.”</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence follows.</p><p> </p><p>“So?” he presses.</p><p> </p><p>“Soooo, what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why did you call?”</p><p> </p><p>“I—I don’t know.” She cringes at herself. Why is she such a fucking coward?</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know why you called me?” he asks, sounding a little impatient with her. She can’t blame him.</p><p> </p><p>The words hang in the air for a moment before she switches courses.</p><p> </p><p>“So…what are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“You called after a month just to ask what I’m doing?” He’s deadpan.</p><p> </p><p>“…Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>He sighs deeply, clearly exasperated, but to her surprise, he actually answers.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m working on one of the bathrooms. I just finished taping everything off. I was just about to start painting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, if you’re busy—"</p><p> </p><p>“It can wait, Rey.”</p><p> </p><p>“If it’s the bathroom I’m thinking of, it’s waited years for this remodel. I’m not sure it <em>can </em>wait.” She laughs slightly, and hopes he will too, but she’s met with silence again. Hesitance.</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you come over and help me, then?”</p><p> </p><p>She chokes a little at the question. She didn’t expect it, but maybe it’s what she secretly wanted when she picked up the phone. It’s not a booty call, she insists to herself. He’s just asking for help with the bathroom. He needs help. Nothing else. Maybe she’ll have an easier time talking to him if he’s in front of her.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, it’ll be easier this way.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not super happy with this chapter, and may make some small additions/changes over the next couple of days. This was initially meant to be a longer chapter, but I haven't had a lot of time to work on this lately, as things in my personal life have taken a nosedive (like to a comedic level--I can only laugh at this point). But this was a pretty good place to end imo. I truly apologize for the long wait, and I hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day and all that &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>TW: Mention of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy), depressive behaviors</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Patience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one's for you, pervs.</p><p>(Trigger Warning in endnotes)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jesus Christ, Ben, what did you <em>do?”</em></p><p> </p><p>His wife comes home to catch him standing in the aftermath of the torn apart guest bedroom. He cleaned up the wallpaper mess last night, but this morning he moved all the remaining furniture into the hall and started tearing up the carpet with an old razor blade he found lying around.</p><p> </p><p>It looks like a twister has ravaged the place.</p><p> </p><p>“I was bored,” he says, shrugging his shoulders before continuing to roll up a strip of carpet.</p><p> </p><p>“This looks terrible!” she screeches. And it does, really. The walls are patchy and the ugly exposed grey-brown wall underneath them makes the room look like a dingy cellar.</p><p> </p><p>“It won’t once I’m done with it,” he assures her, hoping she’ll just leave him to it like she normally does.</p><p> </p><p>“You say that all the time, but you’ve never finished anything.” She’s in a <em>fine</em> mood today it seems. It’s too bad he’s also in a <em>fine</em> mood. They’re gonna fight, and he won’t be able to stop it.</p><p> </p><p>“I finished the kitchen and the living room, didn’t I? And the hallway and the downstairs bathroom—”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah four rooms out of, like, twenty, <em>Benjamin!</em> Those really aren’t good odds!” Ooh…she hit him with the<em> Benjamin.</em> She’s upset. But so is he.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you up my ass about this all of a sudden?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh,” she scoffs, throwing her hands up. “I’m just so sick of coming here and seeing everything half-finished. Don’t you think I’d like to invite my colleagues over every once in a while? We have this beautiful brownstone and it looks like it’s fucking condemned!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m sorry, <em>Kaydel, </em>I don’t have a lot of time to work on the house when school is in session. And don’t you think it would go by faster if I had some help?”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you a million times to hire help and you refuse to! Out of some kind of macho man pride thing, I’m sure.” She folds her arms across her chest petulantly.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I meant!” he barks.</p><p> </p><p>“Then what do you mean?” she barks back.</p><p> </p><p>She’s never once offered to help throughout the years. Even in the design process she’s got nothing to say until he’s picked out what he wants to do and suddenly she’s not into it. It’s frustrating. So fucking frustrating. It quickly became obvious that it wasn’t her thing when, at every turn, she suggested they just sell it and find something on the Upper East Side.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s been fine with her lack of affection for this house—for the most part. It clearly didn’t matter to her that he loved it. And he never really expected her to get down and dirty and help grout tile or lay down hardwood. But if she just showed a goddamn interest. Just once—</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” she spits, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “Just make sure this shit isn’t in the hallway. I don’t want to be tripping over it all night.”</p><p> </p><p>Kay isn’t the type of woman to yell and moan about things—not unless it has to do with work. They’ve had a couple of fights, but never to the point where they are yelling. And not over something as menial as another torn-up room that they don’t even use.</p><p> </p><p>“Is something wrong? Did something happen at work last night?”</p><p> </p><p>“What? I can’t be made at you unless something else is going on?”</p><p> </p><p>“You can be mad at me all you want. You can be annoyed that the house is torn up. But it’s not like you to yell like this.” He definitely deserves her wrath. But not over this.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like you to yell either,” she says quietly. And he thinks about how he once was a yeller. He’d get angry at the drop of a hat. No patience whatsoever. He’d scare people. He’d intimidate them on purpose. She never had to see that person.</p><p> </p><p>“So?” he pushes, and the anger on her face does melt a little.</p><p> </p><p>“I went into the office yesterday evening for a meeting. My dad was there. There was an disagreement. And he didn’t take my side. He doesn’t trust me with <em>The Resistance, </em>he’s made that clear.”</p><p> </p><p>“Kay, I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, too,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>But neither of them moves to hug or kiss or make up in the usual way couples do. They stand in silence. Her staring at the hideous, bare floors, and him staring at her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m think going to stay at my place for a while. I have a lot of work to do and I don’t need any…distractions.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says. He wasn’t particularly gung-ho about the idea of her being around while he’s working anyway, so he doesn’t fight her on it. “Text me when you get there. And let me know if you need anything.”</p><p> </p><p>His wife just nods slightly and turns from the room. She goes back to her life, he goes back to his. Things are as they always were—as they should be.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He makes good progress with the guest room the first week. He rids of the carpet, cleans up the walls, and puts a few fresh coats of white paint on them before installing the cherry hardwood. He blasts his father’s favorite music and historical podcasts to make sure his mind doesn’t wander. Sometimes he doesn't play anything at all, and just talks to the empty air as if his father is there, helping him, guiding him. If anyone were to catch him, he's sure it would be the saddest thing he'd ever have to explain.</p><p> </p><p>He’s pleased with the room when it’s finished, though he hesitates to <em>actually </em>call it finished since the furniture in there is old and mismatched. But he actually completed everything he wanted to, and that’s good enough.</p><p> </p><p>The feeling of satisfaction doesn’t last that long, though. He has to find something else to do or he’ll start remembering he’s a human that exists. He’ll have to find a new normal that doesn’t include Rey, and he’s not ready to face that yet.</p><p> </p><p>The weather is meant to be good for the next week, so he quickly moves on to the back deck that has a few loose boards and needs a new stain desperately.</p><p> </p><p>From the back deck he goes on to the badly neglected garden that hasn’t been maintained. The last time they even went out there was last summer. He and Kay tried barbecuing, but it had rained earlier and mosquitos decided to feast on them. They ended up eating inside.</p><p> </p><p>He takes his mother to the nursery so she can pick out flowers for him. She ends up dragging Charles along with this, confessing that he’s mainly in charge of gardening at her home. His mother and her house manager end up walking ahead of him, practically ignoring him the entire time. Which is fine with him, as he hasn’t really been in the mood to converse. He stays in his own head until he hears Charles say a familiar name.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yes, I think Ms. Rey would like those,” he says to Leia.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Ben says, the word slipping out of his mouth before he can process it.</p><p> </p><p>His mother and Charles turn around, both giving him an odd little look, as if they forgot he was even there.</p><p> </p><p>“We are sending flowers to Rey, dear,” his mother says, turning back around and looking at large baskets of brightly colored blooms.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” He tries to keep any concern out of his voice, but it ends up coming out a bit hostile.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Dameron stopped by the other day and said Ms. Rey hasn’t been feeling well,” Charles answers.</p><p> </p><p>Ben’s heart falls into his stomach. Not feeling well? What’s wrong with her? Is she sick? He shakes his head</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” is all he can say. A noncommittal grunt, not wanting to reveal any true emotion. He turns from them and tries to look fascinated with a basket of begonias.</p><p> </p><p>“Poe thinks she’s pregnant,” his mother says. He whips his head around to look at them again. Charles is looking at a basket of blue flowers, but his mother is looking at him. Her eyes narrow, perceptively, and he feels like a child caught in a lie. Which isn’t far from the truth, really. He has to quickly look distracted again, as to not crumble under <em>that look.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Let’s not spread gossip before we know it is true,” Charles scolds her.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, of course,” his mother says. “How about these pink ones, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“I am partial to the blue,” Charles counters.</p><p> </p><p>They bicker back and forth about the color, what they think <em>Mrs. Dameron </em>would like best, for nearly three minutes and Ben starts to feel sick. The smell of dirt and hundreds of different types of flowers and earth makes him nauseous. Though not as nauseous as the thought of Rey—his Rey—pregnant with another man’s baby. It’s a stupid thing to be upset about. She chose that other man. She chose that other life. He should be happy for her. He might even text her a congratulations when he’s feeling like a bigger person.</p><p> </p><p>He excuses himself from the nursery, telling his Leia and Charles to pick whatever they want for his garden and to send him the bill.</p><p> </p><p>But before he goes, he stops in front of a basket of vibrant purple flowers. Rey likes purple.</p><p> </p><p>“Get her these.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It just occurs to Ben, as he trudges up the stairs with his arms full of painting supplies to the third floor, that this house is way too fucking big.</p><p> </p><p>He knew it was big when he bought it, of course, but he thought maybe it would feel smaller eventually. When houses become homes, they tend to feel cozier, less sterile. He thought some of these empty guest rooms might be nurseries and children’s rooms eventually.</p><p> </p><p>He thought maybe he’d have more friends coming over—more of a life. Though he’s not a big fan of some of Poe Dameron and his friends, he has to admit that game nights here made him feel contented in a way that he never has before.</p><p> </p><p>But that probably had a lot to do with <em>her.</em></p><p> </p><p>He was willing to wait for that life. Willing to be patient until Kay was ready. When he first married her, he thought about the whole kid thing a lot. He never pressured her, though, and he wasn’t in any particular rush to have them himself. But he liked the idea of being a father, of having a little person that’s half you, half someone you love, that you can love unconditionally. That will love you unconditionally back.</p><p> </p><p>But he’s not sure he can be patient anymore. He’d never push her into anything she didn’t want to do. But should he sacrifice his wants and needs too? Kay doesn’t want that life, but he thinks he might. He saw a glimmer of it with someone else. An idea of a different future. And that slipped away. It wasn’t meant to be. His mother was always so big on hope--keeping it alive. But he's afraid he's got none left.</p><p> </p><p>The night after Leia mentioned Rey might be pregnant, he had about her. In this dream she was sitting on his couch, reading, her hand lightly stroking a very swollen belly. Ben kept walking towards her, wanting to feel her belly, feel what he hoped was <em>their</em> child, but no matter how fast he walked he couldn’t reach her. It was like the hallway was a treadmill. As soon as he got near her--close enough to touch--Poe walked through the door, and then he woke up. He tried not to sleep too much after that.</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head, scolding himself for his negativity and self-loathing, as he tapes off the edges of the wall and starts prepping his paint supplies. He turns on an 80’s playlist. <em>What’s My Name</em> by the Clash is the first song to come on.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What the hell is wrong with me?<br/>I'm not who I want to be</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Fitting,</em> he thinks, and laughs a little bitterly to himself.</p><p> </p><p>The music goes out for a moment. A call comes in, the ring blaring over his speakers. At first, he assumes it’s Kay calling to tell him she got into Salt Lake City for her conference okay. But his phone announces a much different caller and he hates how quickly he runs for the phone. He hates how his immediate thought is that she’s hurt.</p><p> </p><p>But she’s not. As soon as he hears she’s fine he comes back to himself. He remembers their situation. He wonders why she’s fucking calling him when she broke up with him—if he can even consider it a break up— weeks ago.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, if you’re busy—"</p><p> </p><p>He panics. He doesn’t want to hang up yet. He doesn’t want this to be it. He wants to know why she thought of him, why she bothered calling him.</p><p> </p><p>“It can wait, Rey,” he insists.</p><p> </p><p>“If it’s the bathroom I’m thinking of, it’s waited years for this remodel. I’m not sure it <em>can </em>wait.” She laughs a little, and it’s such a sweet sound that it makes him feel bold. A test. He wants to test her, and maybe himself a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you come over and help me, then?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He watches her from behind his front window curtain for nearly twenty minutes.</p><p> </p><p>She must have paced up and down the sidewalk fifty times before making it to his front steps. Even then, she sits down and puts her head into her hands for a few minutes before getting back up and resuming her pacing.</p><p> </p><p>When she finally gains the courage to knock on the door, he tries not to run for it. But he doesn’t take his time either, afraid she’ll run away.</p><p> </p><p>The first thing he does when he sees her up close is look her up and down to assess her well-being. She looks as beautiful as her remembers, but a bit…withered. Her eyes are sporting purple rings underneath, and her cheekbones look a tiny bit more defined than usual. He can’t see much of her body underneath the bulky overalls she’s wearing, but he’s sure that the rest of her is a bit thinner too. But she’s not dead. She’s not bleeding profusely out of any artificial wounds, and that’s all that matters.</p><p> </p><p>“You look like shit,” he says, effectively breaking the silence between them. He regrets the words as soon as they are out of his mouth. Maybe, if this were six weeks ago, she would’ve laughed and called him a “tosser.” But they aren’t there anymore, and no matter how upset he is at their situation, he doesn’t want her to feel bad about herself.</p><p> </p><p>He opens his mouth to apologize, but then he notices the odd smile on her face. She looks like she’s forgotten how. Like she’s just learning how those muscles in her face work.</p><p> </p><p>“So do you,” she says, biting her lip, a breathy laugh escaping her nose.</p><p> </p><p>And then he’s gone. Gone for her again.</p><p> </p><p><em>Damn her.</em> </p><p> </p><p>And she’s right, he <em>does </em>look like shit. He hasn’t shaved since the last time he saw her, and he’s in desperate need of a haircut. He’s never had this much hair before. He’s in a paint-splattered t-shirt and a ragged pair of sweatpants. He considered changing before she got there, but he figured there wasn’t much of a point.</p><p> </p><p>He holds the door open wider and steps aside to let her pass. As soon as she’s inside, and the door is closed, a crippling set of nerves hit him. What does she want? Why is she doing this to him again? Why doesn’t he have the balls to ask her?</p><p> </p><p>“Shall we?” she asks, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up.</p><p> </p><p>Right. She’s here to…work. On the bathroom. With him.</p><p> </p><p>He nods his head and she walks her way up to the second floor, finding the bathroom in question easily. It’s a wreck, with no flooring and all the appliances ripped out.</p><p> </p><p>He hands her a spare bandana and she wraps it around her hair. He hands her a roller and pours some paint in her tray. They wordlessly get started. He wishes he would’ve put some music on, but too much time has passed for him to connect his phone to the speaker. It would be weird now.</p><p> </p><p>She breaks the silence by commenting on the color of the paint, and then doesn’t stop. He just let’s her talk to herself about all sorts of things. How hot it was last week. How rainy it’s going to be next week. The DeLorean someone brought into the shop the other day. He doesn’t respond to any of it, keeping to his wall, to himself.</p><p> </p><p>And, really, why should he entertain her? Why should he go out of his way to make her feel comfortable? She <em>should </em>feel a little uncomfortable. After everything. He swears an hour must pass in this awkward routine, since he’s already done two coats of paint on his wall and is moving on to the next.</p><p> </p><p>He sneaks a peek at her as she rambles about some new show she started watching, and she hasn’t done as much. She looks a little disassociated, staring at the wall as she mindlessly rolls on paint and talks.</p><p> </p><p>“This really is such a nice color,” she says again, interrupting her own thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>And then he’s had enough.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here, Rey?” he asks. The question isn’t asked with malice, but it’s a little biting. He can’t keep the exhaustion out of his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m helping you paint the bathroom,” she answers, shaking the roller full of blue paint.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I like this kind of stuff and I’m good at DIY and you asked me—”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop,” he says, throwing down a paint-filled rag he was holding. “Just…stop. Be honest with me. And for God’s sake be honest with yourself, Rey.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s silent. She bites the corners of her mouth and sucks her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“I missed you,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>His heart stops.</p><p> </p><p>“You were the one—"</p><p> </p><p>“I know!” He’s taken aback by her sudden shout. She tosses her roller into her tray, and he backs away from her a little. She goes a bit feral. “I know I was the one to break things off! But that was a fucking mistake!”</p><p> </p><p>“So why did you do it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was bloody scared! Chewie caught us—<em>he knows</em>—and I was scared that I would lose everything I’ve made for myself here if I kept going with you. I didn’t want everyone to hate me. I didn’t want to lose everyone I cared about. And I just needed time to figure myself out…And the moment I did I called you.”</p><p> </p><p>He lets her words settle between the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you happy?” He asks her the same question his mother asked him so many months ago.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know his answer then. He thought he was happy, but he had a very narrow view of it. He thought he had everything he wanted. He certainly had more than he needed. There was nothing to be<em> unhappy </em>about. But after meeting Rey again, after being with her, he started to realize that happiness doesn’t always come when you have everything you need. Sometimes it comes when you get things you didn’t know you needed.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks she won’t answer at first. He thinks she’s just going to stand there, stubbornly, stuck in her own head.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” he wants—no, <em>needs </em>to hear it.</p><p> </p><p>She chews on her nails a bit, and he can practically hear the cogs in her mind spinning.</p><p> </p><p>“I always thought I was such an independent person,” she says with a deep breath. “As a kid<em>, I </em>was the one who had to take care of my own mother. I knew how to grocery shop and cook and sew and clean vomit off the carpet all on my own before I was ten years old. And I was always on my own when I lived with my grandfather. I knew how to take care of myself. I knew how to entertain myself. I didn’t <em>think</em> I needed anyone else. I did things for myself. And when I did things for others I knew to expected very little in return. I especially didn’t expect love or affection or any of that. Though I wanted it so, so badly. Even from that fucking bastard.</p><p> </p><p>But then I went to boarding school and I made friends and I had my first taste of what it was like to be taken care of by someone else. Even if it was platonic love, it was love. And then I moved to London with Finn and I started to learn how to properly love in return. I think…I think that was the last time I truly felt happy. And I think I lost sight of that person I was. That feeling. But these last few months have made me realize something.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asks, barely a whisper. He doesn’t think he’s blinked in minutes, watching her. Waiting. Waiting. Patience.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want him,” she admits, voice like an earthquake. “Not like I want you. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything the way I want you. You make happy. Being with you makes <em>me</em> feel like me again. And I want to be me again. So badly.”</p><p> </p><p>He stops breathing—he <em>can’t </em>breathe. His heart is lodged in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“So what are you saying?”</p><p> </p><p>She bites her lip, and shuts her eyes tight. The tears that have been welling in her eyes this whole speech finally spill over, but she remains silent, and his heart dives into his stomach. Oh no.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t keep doing this, Rey. I don’t want just part of you. I thought I could deal with it at the beginning, because at least I got to see you. But I’ll never be happy with just part of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Be with me,” she finally exhales.</p><p> </p><p>“I want the whole thing,” he says. “I want to do <em>this </em>right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then let’s do it right. Let’s leave them and be together. Be with me,” she repeats, she steps closer to him, she looks almost a second away from falling on her knees and begging.</p><p> </p><p>“Do we love each other?” he asks, hope returning to his voice.</p><p> </p><p>Another painfully long beat of silence.</p><p> </p><p>“I think we do.”</p><p> </p><p>The smile that comes nearly splits his face in two. He can’t even hide it. She loves him. She fucking loves him.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” he sighs, takes a step closer to her, and considers their predicament once again. The ring on her finger. The ring on his. “This is all very inconvenient.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” she agrees, but the smile on her face mirrors his own. “But still…be with me. Please be—”</p><p> </p><p>He’s not going to let her say it a fourth time. His feet carry him across the remainder of the torn up, dusty floor and he pulls her into a tight embrace. She loops her arms under his and around his back, pressing him closer to her. They are pressing so hard he thinks they might just be trying to morph into one being. Which he thinks he might be okay with, so he’ll never have to miss her again.</p><p> </p><p>He’s missed Rey more these last few weeks more than he’s missed his wife any time she would leave for a business trips or stay at her place. <em>That </em>was a sad realization he tried hard to repress.</p><p> </p><p>Now that she’s in his arms again, he’s not sure he can fathom ever letting go. He kisses the top of her head, her forehead, her nose. She kisses his chest, his neck, that spot behind his ears. He ends up backing her into that freshly painted wall, though neither of them seems to care about the paint that will be up her back and in her hair.</p><p> </p><p>They stop the small kisses for a moment to just stare at each other. He can’t believe she came back to him. He can’t believe she’s real. That she <em>chose</em> him. He runs his finger across her cheeks and nose—over those freckles that have been made darker by the summer sun—just to make sure she’s really there.</p><p> </p><p>Then he consumes her mouth with his, and it feels like kissing her for the first time all over again. And in a way, it is. Because this Ben and Rey know what they want.</p><p> </p><p>This Ben and Rey <em>love </em>each other.</p><p> </p><p>The kissing becomes more desperate. She lashes his mouth with her tongue, hungry.</p><p> </p><p>They stumble into the hall, in a feeble attempt to make it into the bedroom. But their legs can’t quite make it there. Those fifteen feet are too far a walk, and they have time to make up for.They end up on the ground and lays her out in the hallway. He doesn’t give a shit about the paint smears his hands and her clothes make on the old hall carpet. It needs to be replaced anyway.</p><p> </p><p>He balances himself on his elbows, enveloping her with his body. She throws a leg over his hip, and he runs his hand up her thigh, and becomes annoyed at all the clothes separating them. He runs his hand from her hip to her stomach, and lightly grazes her breast before tugging at the for strap of her overall. He pulls back a little, stops kissing her enough to look her in the eye. A question there—<em>is this okay? Can we do this now? You won’t regret it?</em></p><p> </p><p>She looks from his hand on the clasp and back at him, and nods furiously. He unclasps the straps and pulls the top down to her hips. She promptly pulls his shirt over his head, then yanks him back down to her lips.</p><p> </p><p>She runs her hands down his bare chest, taking extra time grazing through the patch of hair that runs down from his naval. She unties the strings of his sweatpants before tugging them down ever so slightly, and reaching in.</p><p> </p><p>He lets out an embarrassing grunt the moment she makes contact with his dick. She giggles, the sound only making him harder. He almost growls at her, attacking her with more kisses, and little bites, and rubbing his patchy beard on her face to make her giggle harder.</p><p> </p><p>“I was joking when I said I was into werewolves!” She shouts, lightheartedly punching at his chest. He laughs at her weak struggle.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not sure if he’s ever felt so blissfully happy in his entire life. Not just because he’s getting his dick stroked by the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. But because that beautiful woman loves him, and he can feel it in every laugh and sigh and shy glance and gentle kiss. He wants to show her he loves her, too.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls away from her, sitting back on his feet, then swiftly yanks the pants of her overalls off her body, tossing them away somewhere near the stairs. Her striped shirt comes off next, and another embarrassing groan escapes his mouth when he sees that she isn’t wearing a bra. He knew she’d have perfect tits. He’d felt her up enough to know. But seeing them bare…he lunges forward on top of her again, his mouth ready to devour them.</p><p> </p><p>It’s her turn to emit embarrassing noises, as she moans and whimpers just from one swipe of his tongue. She grips his head, fingers carded through his hair and holds him in place moaning for more, more more…</p><p> </p><p>His hand finds it’s way to the band of her panties, snapping the elastic, teasing her in a way that makes her hips jump. She pushes her pelvis up and grinds into his hand, and he can feel how wet she is through the fabric. He moves it aside, massaging her slippery folds, just grazing that all-important bud.</p><p> </p><p>He slips a finger in, then another, and when she begs him for a third he’s more than happy to oblige. She can have whatever she wants. He doesn’t even care that she’s so blissed out she’s stopped stroking him. He can wait. The sounds she’s making for him are quite enough to tide him over.</p><p> </p><p>He repositions himself further down her body, widening her legs and placing his head between her thighs. He starts to lap at her while pumping his fingers in and out, in and out, so smoothly. He edges her over and over again until she's whining desperately. <em>Patience,</em> he tells her, tells himself.<em> Have patience. It will be worth it.</em></p><p>In his wildest dreams—and he’s had <em>many </em>starring her—he didn’t think she’d taste this good. That she’d be so fragile and pliable for him. And the <em>scream</em> she lets out when she comes is a holy sound. He’s never heard any woman scream quite like that.</p><p> </p><p>He lets her ride her orgasm out on his face, not that he had much of a choice since her thighs have trapped him there. He’d be happy to set up camp here.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He's already pitched a tent.</span></p><p> </p><p>When she’s come down from her high, she lays flat on the carpet. The now very paint-stained carpet. She’s a boneless puddle, her legs limp at either side of him. He pushes himself up, resting his hands on her pelvis and places his chunk on them. He watches her breathing go shallow.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, Ben,” she whispers after an extended silence. He’ll never get tired of hearing that.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, too, Rey,” he whispers back.</p><p> </p><p>Even from this angle, he can see her gummy smile, and the fat tears that fall from her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>They’re happy tears this time. He’s sure of it. Because the same ones are falling from his eyes, too.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Two updates within ten days of each other? I mean who IS she??? But on a serious note, I am going to apologize in advance because it might be a while before the next chapter due to school. But I hope this will tie ya'll over in the meantime. Enjoy!</p><p>Also, I haven't proofread this shit so please forgive any errors.</p><p>You can find me @ captaincabinetsao3.tumblr.com.</p><p> </p><p>TW: Mentions of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Candy Land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>See end notes for trigger warnings--this chapter is pretty massive, so there are a few. But it's mostly just porn.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I love you, too,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>She’s never cried before at those words. She thinks maybe because she’s never heard them said so sincerely. Or by someone that she truly loves back. And because it took so long, and so much strife to hear them.</p><p> </p><p>She becomes overwhelmed with emotion as they lay in the hall, him resting his head beneath her belly button, her carding her hands through his hair.</p><p> </p><p>She could’ve had this months ago, had she just been a bit more brave, though she tries not to think about that. She tries not to punish herself. Especially when she’s feeling so fucking good with that post-orgasm haze still fogging up her brain.</p><p> </p><p>No one has ever made her come like that. Especially not Poe, who thinks sixty seconds is a perfectly reasonable amount of oral to get her hot and prepared. Ben was insistent, yet gentle. He knew how to coax sounds out of her that she didn’t know she could make.</p><p> </p><p>If he’s that good with his hands, with his tongue, she wonders what the rest of him is capable of. She’s excited that she finally gets to find out.</p><p> </p><p>He’s still dressed in that t-shirt and those fucking grey sweatpants. She admonished herself for perving on him when she first saw him in them. They really don’t do well to hide the bulge. And she knows he must still hard, based on the way he’s very subtly rutting himself into the carpet.</p><p> </p><p>“Come here,” she says, and he slowly snakes his way up her body, kissing a few spots on her stomach and shoulder as he goes. He balances himself on his elbows, his body hovering over hers, and practically burns her retinas with how bloody intensely he’s starting at her.</p><p> </p><p>She lifts her pelvis and tries to snake a leg around him to pull him down on her. She grinds into him, trying to relieve some of ache he’s truly feeling. But the angle isn’t good enough, so she pushes on his shoulders, effectively flipping him onto his back.</p><p> </p><p>She straddles him, her wet, naked cunt dragging circles around his clothed cock. He’s huge—she knew he would be—but it’s quite different siting on top of him, feeling it fully under her.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t hold himself back anymore, apparently, because he grabs her hips and guides her exactly where he wants her until he finishes in his pants with an almost pained, stifled moan. Once he’s finished, she collapses on his side, and lets him come back to himself before talking again.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you mind helping me clean up?” she asks. She can feel the paint in her hair drying, going tacky, every time she moves her head.</p><p> </p><p>“It would be my pleasure,” he says, sitting up with her in his lap. They both help each other get on their feet.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve made a right mess of this carpet,” she says, pointedly looking down at the smear of paintand body fluids on the beige flooring.</p><p> </p><p>“It needed to go anyway. We’ll pull it up tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“We?” She raises an eyebrow at him, and the man goes beat red.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, no,<em> I </em>will. It’s my carpet, I wouldn’t expect you to—"</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll help.”</p><p> </p><p>“You will?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course—most of this is my mess anyway.” She smiles cheekily, and the hunger that flashes in his eyes is enough to make her implode. “What do you think you’ll put in to replace it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not sure—hadn’t thought that far yet. What do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hardwood, definitely. Something on the darker side. Mahogany maybe?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more,” he says, and pulls her in for a quick, but hard kiss.</p><p> </p><p>He leads her, then, to another bathroom—a finished one with a large clawfoot tub. He fills it with hot water and bubbles, and helps her into it.</p><p> </p><p>He sits on the tile, leaning over the edge of the tub, idly sudsing up her back while she tries to wash all the paint out of her hair. Neither of them talks for the longest while. It isn’t until he starts washing her shoulders, breasts, and then pauses on stomach that the conversation picks back up.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I ask you something?”</p><p> </p><p><br/>“Of course,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t—just ask.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you pregnant?”</p><p> </p><p>Thats…not what she expected him to ask. Pregnant? Why does everyone think she’s pregnant all of a sudden?</p><p> </p><p>“I am not,” she answers evenly.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t say anything to that, but his body seems to release loads of tension.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you ask?”</p><p> </p><p>He sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“My mom…she said that Poe told her you were pregnant.”</p><p> </p><p>The bastard. That man never knows when to keep his bloody mouth shut. Even if she <em>were </em>she wouldn’t want him prattling on about it to everyone they fucking know. She seethes as she goes through a mental list of everyone they know who he probably told.</p><p> </p><p>“When we were…well, when we weren’t together, I was miserable and confused and I think he just assumed. It was actually after he asked me if I was that I realized…I realized I didn’t want to be with him.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want kids?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I want them, but I just realized I’d rather have them with—“ she shuts her mouth quickly, slapping her hand over it to stop more stupid words from escaping.</p><p> </p><p><em>Way to come on too fast, Rey.</em> She just got back with him and now she’s telling him she wants his babies?</p><p> </p><p>He laughs at her, pulling her hand away from her face.</p><p> </p><p>“I—not now, of course. Or maybe ever. I mean, we’d have to talk about—I didn’t mean—"</p><p> </p><p>“I know you didn’t,” he says, placing her palm on his cheek. He leans into it. “For the record, I would like that, too. Someday.”</p><p> </p><p>She can’t help but scrunch her face and smile wide, and has to look away from him because she’s afraid she might burst from the sincere look he’s giving her. He picks up a rag and continues his soapy ministrations on her body.</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you join me in here?” she asks after a while.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself if I get in here with you,” he jokes, splashing some water on her chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe I don’t want you to control yourself,” she says, very seriously.</p><p> </p><p>He stares at her for a moment, seemingly considering her face, before pushing himself up. He pulls off his top first, and her mouth waters at the sight of his bare chest. He’s pale and smooth aside from the bit of hair trailing beneath his naval.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls the come-stained sweats down at the same time as his white briefs, revealing himself in all his glory. Good Lord is the man big. Everywhere. He’s big everywhere. She bites her lip as she takes him all in, a million horny thoughts running through her mind.</p><p> </p><p><em>That’s all mine now,</em> she thinks.</p><p> </p><p>She meets his eyes again, and he’s staring back at her, waiting for an invitation. She stretches her suds-covered arms wide, inviting him into the warmth of the tub. He steps in carefully, and water and bubbles pour over the edge as he sits.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a bit of an awkward fit, and they decide to sit at either side of the tub for optimum comfort. He’s too tall to stretch evenly, so his knees stick out above the water. She idly plays with the dark hair covering them.</p><p> </p><p>He slides under the water for a moment, completely immersing himself so he comes up with a soaked head. Rivulets of water drip down his unruly facial hair, giving her all sorts of dirty thoughts. She feels like a teenager again, watching the Darcy-in-the-water scene from the <em>Pride and Prejudice </em>mini series, which she often considers her sexual awakening.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me wash your hair,” she says, and he leans forward to give her better access. She scrubs his scalp hard, working up a good froth of shampoo. She meant it when she said he looked like shit, too, earlier. They both looked like creatures that have crawled out of the New York sewage system. A match made in heaven. She’s washed, of course—she did before she came over…probably anticipating this outcome. But it’s nice to feel fully clean again. Fresh. Maybe <em>reborn</em> is a bit too far, but it’s a feeling adjacent to that.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah!” he cries, when she goes particularly hard at his scalp.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” she says, trying to lighten her pressure on his head. “My mother used to always wash my hair so intensely. And when she would brush it,” she shivers at the memory. “I hated when she would brush it. It hurt so bad I would cry.”</p><p> </p><p>“My mom was the same way when I was a kid,” Ben muses. “She’d make me cut it real short when I was really young, but I always hated the way my ears would stick out. Once I was old enough to take care of my own hygiene, and develop my own style, I started to grow it out. I still catch her looking at it like she wants to rip it all out again sometimes.”</p><p> </p><p>She rinses the shampoo out, then moves on to deep conditioning the ends of his hair.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nice that she let you keep it long, though, even if she hated it. My mother kept mine super short because it was easier to take care of. I look like a little boy in most of my school pictures. And then when I lived with my grandfather, he made me keep it long—all the way down to my bum—in a tight braid because he wanted me to look feminine and <em>virginal.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t miss the way Ben cringes with anger when she says that.</p><p> </p><p>“He sounds like an ancient, sexist asshole,” he says. Some scarlet anger starts to show on the tops of his cheeks and ears.</p><p> </p><p>“He was an ancient, sexist arsehole. You might even know him. Sheev Palpatine.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben sits up straight, to look at her better, Rey cringes at how casually she just revealed that. But she supposes he should know.</p><p> </p><p>“The Tory MP?” he asks, his brows so high they’re nearly to his hairline.</p><p> </p><p>And <em>of course</em> Ben would know of him. He lived in England for a few years for University. Not to mention he’s the only person she knows subscribed to multiple different newspapers… and he actually <em>reads </em>them.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the one,” she confirms, trying not to let her voice shake in the way it always does when she thinks about that bastard.</p><p> </p><p>“You know how I told you my mother was adopted?” he asks, and she nods slowly, wondering where he’s going with this. “My mom’s biological mother was a politician and ran against him decades ago, and he destroyed her campaign and reputation all because she was a woman. She was ahead of her time, and he was threatened by that. Her biological father knew him, too, from around the British social scene, and he didn’t have a favorable opinion of him either. And you know Leia is a staunch liberal, so…he’s not well-regarded in my family.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s mouth is hanging open, and they are both shaking their heads in disbelief.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br/><br/></span></p><p><br/>“And my old college mentor—the one who pushed me to go to Oxford, I’ve talked about him before—they were good friends, I believe.”</p><p> </p><p>“What are the fucking odds,” she says. Their grandparents were sworn enemies. If only her grandfather could see her know. Well, not naked, but certainly coupled up with Skywalker blood.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I…I didn’t know he had a family,” Ben says.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s how he wanted it,” Rey says, it comes out bitterly. She pushes his head back down so she can start to massage the conditioner into his scalp. Frankly, she can’t look at his sympathetic stare if she’s going to tell him this story.</p><p> </p><p>“His wife died only a few years into the marriage, it was early on in his career and not widely publicized. But they had a son. My father—William, or Billy as my mum called him. Billy had no love for him either. So he left home and met my mother at some club in Birmingham. She got pregnant pretty quickly, and had me, and after that…I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what Palpatine put them through, or what he did or said, but my dad ended up leaving her. And me.</p><p> </p><p>It devastated my mum. But she never forgot him, never stopped missing him. And though I never met him I missed him, too, just from the way she talked about him. He was basically the bloody Messiah in our house. And I swear she spent the rest of her life looking for a replacement Billy. She had a lot of boyfriends.</p><p> </p><p>One of them got her into drugs. To this day I’m not really sure what kind of drugs—they were serious enough to kill her, at least. I think she missed him so much it killed her. It really killed her. She couldn’t be alone. She needed to have someone there to love her. So she hopped from one man to the next, looking for someone<em> perfect.</em> Like Billy. But she never found it. Sometimes I liked the guys she brought home, and sometimes I didn’t. Most of the time they didn’t last long enough for me to like or dislike them at all. I suppose I should count myself lucky none of them ever hit me or… anything else.”</p><p> </p><p>One of them did try to reprimand her for watching too much telly once, and her mother went ballistic at the fact that he raised his voice at her daughter. She broke up with him immediately, and let Rey watch telly for an extra hour that night.</p><p> </p><p>“She could never hold down a job, and we never had any money. Oftentimes I had to cook for her, or clean up after her. Sometimes, when it was really bad, I had to steal from shops and rummage through restaurant bins just to find something to eat. I only made friends so I could go to theirs for dinner. Eventually people stopped wanting to be my friend…there were rumors at school. My mum tried though, I know she did. We lived in this old semi-detached house, our neighbors roof caved in. She made the place homey and colorful. It probably should’ve been condemned, but the landlord wanted the money and my mother always found a way to give it to him. I don’t want to know how.</p><p> </p><p>Then I found her dead and…the first thought I had wasn’t about how sad I was. I was relieved. She was dead and I was fucking relieved that I didn’t have to take care of her anymore. I regretted that feeling later, and I just had to remind myself that there were a lot of happy times and she loved me in the way she knew how. I loved her too, as all little girls love their mother’s, even when they aren’t very good mothers. But I think she loved my father—or the memory of him—much more.</p><p> </p><p>She always talked about him as if he were still alive. That he would come back for us. But he wasn’t. I found out later, when I was a teenager at prep school in Oxford, and finally had access to the internet, that he killed himself almost as soon as he went back to Palpatine. My grandfather is a powerful man, and managed to cover most of the details up, it was made out to seem like an unfortunate accident. There aren’t many articles about Billy, or me for that matter.</p><p> </p><p>And then that man came for me. No blood of his was going to end up in the pathetic foster care system, he said. He wouldn’t have me bring more shame upon the family name. And so I had to go live with him. I was so alone all the time. It wasn’t the peaceful kind of alone that you feel when you get home after a long day and just want to lounge around quietly. No, it was like…cold. The alone you feel when you are desperately trying to talk and no one can hear you—no one <em>wants</em> to hear you. You are <em>nothing.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Her voice trembles. He tries to move, tries to lean forward, as if to comfort her, but she doesn’t quite want that yet, so she pushes him back. He obeys.</p><p> </p><p>“And every once in a while he would be there, and would make me feel just the least bit special, loved, just to destroy it soon after. I’m not sure what would have happened to me if he hadn’t sent me away for secondary school, if I hadn’t met Finn. I probably would have ended up like my father…But I try not to think about it.”</p><p> </p><p>She realizes two things then: her hands are still in Ben’s hair, but haven’t been moving in quite some time, and there are hot tears running down her face. At her pause, Ben looks up, knocking her hands into the lukewarm water. He doesn’t say anything yet, just wipes the tears off her cheeks and rinses the conditioner out himself.</p><p> </p><p>“I think—no, I <em>know</em> I only married Poe because I was scared of that kind of loneliness again. He was good to me and made me feel safe. And Finn and Rose were leaving and I wouldn’t have anyone left in England, so when he asked..." she shrugs half-heartedly. "It was unfair of me to do that to him. And to myself. I should have tried harder for myself. I should have had more hope…I just feel so stupid. Stupid for wasting so many years of my life because of fear. I wasn’t ready to face that yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“You aren’t stupid, Rey,” he says, holding her face between his hands and looking at her directly. “Hope is powerful, and there’s nothing worse than losing it. It makes you feel stupid for having it in the first place, and hesitant to ever have it again,” Ben says, and she nods. He moves his hands from her face to engulf her hands under the water. “Besides, it lead you here in the end, didn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she muses, stroking her pruny thumb over his hand. “It lead me here.”</p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other a long time after that. So much so the water starts to get cold. With someone else, it might be awkward to sit in silence and observe and be observed back. But for Rey, it’s a peaceful moment. A time where she can feel seen and understood without having to continue to bare her soul.</p><p> </p><p>After a while, Ben pulls her left hand out of the water—the hand that still bears her wedding ring. The one that cut his face all those months ago. He turns her hand in his own, looking at it. Then he starts to pull it off, slowly, like it’s a delicate, fragile process. And maybe it is.</p><p> </p><p>He places it in the empty stone soap dish sitting at the side of the tub. She knows what he wants her to do. She pulls his left hand out of the water and pulls his silver band off in the same fashion. She places it next to her own. Something feels very official about it—an unengagement, as it were.</p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other for just a beat more before they surge together. Water splashes over the edges of the tub. Their mouths meet and move in rapid succession.</p><p> </p><p>They stop only stand, and he slowly helps her from the tub so she doesn’t slip. Then he pulls her into a bridal carry and takes her from the bathroom to the bedroom, placing her on the bed so gently. She scoots back as he lowers himself onto his knees to hover over her.</p><p> </p><p>He plants little kisses on her as he crawls up her body. She keeps her hands in his damp hair. Her thighs, her cunt, her belly button, chest and shoulders. He meets her willing mouth again, and runs his hands up and down her torso, lightly teasing her nipples as he goes. Her body involuntarily jerks each time he grazes them. She can feel herself getting wetter each time.</p><p> </p><p>She tries to sit up and reaches for his dick, but he pushes her back down, and pins her hands above her head, gripping both of her wrists with one hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me take care of you,” she whines, squirming. He’s already been so good to her, she wants to return the favor.</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head—no.</p><p> </p><p>“You are, just by being here, you are taking care of me.”</p><p> </p><p>She wants to argue, but she’s silence when his fingers find her folds, running up and down them, spreading the wetness that’s formed there. He finds her clit, then, and rubs tidy little circles on it. He dips into her a couple times, just to make sure she’s ready, pliable.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice a deep mumble that makes her heart skip a beat. “No going back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Never going back,” she whispers, arching herself up.</p><p> </p><p>He lets go of her wrists and grabs her hips. She spreads her legs as he aligns himself with her. He ducks down for a quick peck on the lips before he pushes home. She grabs at him, hands slapping his back as he goes further and further and further. It’s like he’s never going to end.</p><p> </p><p>She knows he’s bottomed out when he grunts, and goes in for another kiss. He can't seem to stop kissing her. He can’t seem to stop sucking and biting at her lower lip. He can’t seem to stop touching her clit, because his fingers return there, too.</p><p> </p><p>It’s when he starts to move, that she understands the full girth of him. He seems to hit that sweet spot in her every time he slides in and out. He starts slow, with long drags to build the momentum. He gets faster, seemingly spurned on by the high-pitched moans she lets out each time he goes to the hilt.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He's so good--he's so, so good and she knew he would be. His face is all scrunched up in focus and pleasure and it's adorable and sexy and the same time. She touches his face every once in a while, just to see it relax. Just to get him to look at her again. His eyes are so hungry, so eager to please, and nothing feels better than being wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Her orgasm hits her by surprise, but its nonetheless powerful, her legs shaking at his sides and nails digging into his back. He stops moving, letting her ride it out on her own terms, letting her cunt squeeze him, attempting to milk him. But he doesn’t chase her quite yet.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m close,” he grunts as soon as he starts moving again.</p><p> </p><p>“Come in me,” she whispers.</p><p> </p><p>“You sure?”</p><p> </p><p>She nods furiously and repeats herself.</p><p> </p><p>“Come inside me, Ben,” she’s <em>begging</em> for it now.</p><p> </p><p>She wants all of him. Just like she imagined all those months ago, in her bed, next to her husband, with her hand down her pajama pants.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls out of her then, and she squeaks in abject protest, but he flips her on her stomach, and reenters her with lightening speed. He loops his arm under her stomach holding her hips up for easier access. He collapses over her, rutting into her quickly. He comes with a guttural moan, squeezing her closer to him. She can feel every bit of his spend as he shoots into her, a feeling that turns her right back on. She moves her hand down to her clit and rubs quickly until she’s coming again.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s spent, he slips out of her and collapses onto his side. He pulls her back into his sweaty chest, their heavy breathing falling into the same pattern. She can feel his come leaking from her onto the sheets.</p><p> </p><p>“This is an incredibly hard mattress,” she comments after she’s evened out her breathing. She bounces on it a couple of times, only partially to rub against his dick. “How the hell do you fall asleep on this?”</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” he agrees. “It’s not entirely my preference, but Kay—" He cuts himself off. He doesn’t need to finish, as it’s probably not the appropriate time to be talking about his wife. Not when he's got his arms wrapped around another woman who is incredibly naked and stuffed with his spunk.</p><p> </p><p>“You still have a bit of paint in your hair,” he says after a moment. She can feel his breath on the back of her head.</p><p> </p><p>“You can try to get it out tomorrow,” she says, hoping he understands that she’s not going anywhere. Not for a while.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like a plan,” he says, snuggling her closer.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the hardness of the mattress, Rey is still able to fall into a light sleep with a smile on her face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>They spend the next three days in a similar fashion.</p><p> </p><p>They fix up different parts of the house—the smeared bathroom wall was first on the agenda, and the hall carpeting was second, if for any reason, just to rid of the evidence. They talk about life. He tells her about how he and Kaydel have been unofficially separated for weeks, and what he plans to teach next semester and his visits to his mother’s parents in the Philippines. She’s able to talk more about her past, and if she’s not mistaken, the discomfort of it starts to fade the more she tries.</p><p> </p><p>They eat a bunch of incredibly unhealthy food and play a few rounds of scrabble and sit in the garden to read and hold hands around the hardware store. But no matter what they do, it eventually devolves into sex.</p><p> </p><p>The most random things seem to make her horny.</p><p> </p><p>They were in the cellar, looking at some old dusty furniture. The act of him blowing cobwebs off a dusty dresser gives her the overwhelming urge topounce on him. And she does. And he fucks her on that dusty dresser. The next day they decide to give that old dresser new life—sanding it and painting it and placing it in the recently redone guest room—which they then also fuck in.</p><p> </p><p>Even just being in the house for a few hours during game night, she noticed the lack Kaydel around the house. There was nothing around that seemed personal to her—aside from a few framed photos.</p><p> </p><p>Even their bedroom is pretty devoid of her stuff. There are very few clothes of hers in the closets or drawers. Rey has to wear Ben’s clothes for days—not that she would feel comfortable in Kay’s stuff anyways. She’s got some makeup and skincare in the bathroom, which Rey does guiltily use. In her defense, it’s all really expensive shit that she would never be able to try otherwise.</p><p> </p><p>Ben tells her she’s never really had much of an interest in this place. She’s got great taste, apparently her flat in SOHO is incredible, which Rey doesn’t doubt for a second—Kay is an immaculate dresser. But Ben says she’s far too busy to worry about these things. Which Rey also doesn’t doubt, but she feels bad that Ben’s had to deal with this all himself.</p><p> </p><p>But Rey tries to add her own personal touches to the house—though nothing too obvious as she doesn’t want to overstep. It’s not her house, after all, though Ben does make her feel at home. She suggests her favorite colors for some of the rooms, and picks out small pieces of furniture that she likes. She makes him go antiquing early one morning in Long Island—far away from everyone they know—which he definitely enjoys far more than he lets on.</p><p> </p><p>After only three days, the house starts to feel…more alive. There’s more color, it feels open and airy and clean, despite it still being a half-finished mess. It’s nowhere near complete—it’s obnoxiously massive and it needs more than a few days of DIY—but it definitely starts to feel more complete.</p><p> </p><p>Poe finally calls her on the morning of the fourth day of her sexcapade with Ben.</p><p> </p><p>Quite frankly, she forgot he existed, and his name popping up on her phone made her feel a bit sick. She remembers the guilt she’s supposed to have. Ben leaves the room to give her privacy as she talks to him.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t ask how she is, or what she’s been up to, just that he needs her to sign for a package coming all the way from Asia at 2:00pm, so she <em>needs</em> be home. He tells her he loves her before he hangs up, though, and all she can say back is “have a good one.” That’s what she says to her customers before they leave her with their vehicles.</p><p> </p><p>She hangs up the phone completely titted off. It’s such a little thing, to just ask how someone is. But Poe has never been one to think about that kind of shit. And after days of being around someone whose thoughts are occupied with how she is, it’s jarring. It makes her actions feel justified—almost.</p><p> </p><p>Rey lets Ben know she has to go home, and he’s loath to let her leave his house, his arms. He’s holding her from behind as she gets dressed in the overalls she came over in.</p><p> </p><p>“Come with me, then,” she says, pulling his hand up to kiss it. “You can see how far superior my mattress is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Would that be okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not going to be home. I tracked him. He’s all the way in Arkansas.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, but still,” he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck. “Feels weird,” he murmurs against her skin.</p><p> </p><p>“We should be passed feeling <em>weird </em>about breaking the sanctity of our marriages<em>. </em>We’ve shagged in almost every room of this house.”</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, no argument for that. “Let me get my jacket.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Her house feels different, when she walks in. It’s only been three days, but it feels foreign to her. Colder, somehow, even though its boiling hot from her not turning the air conditioning on for the last few days. </p><p> </p><p>Ben slopes every room with his hands stuffed in his pockets like an interloper. After she adjusts the AC, she finds him standing in the bathroom, staring up at the shelf. The one she said cut his face all those months ago.</p><p> </p><p>It’s an odd place to cherish, but this is where they started—officially, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>She joins him, closing the door behind her, a dirty little idea tickling her brain.</p><p> </p><p>She puts a finger on his chest and slowly presses him back so he has to lean on the counter, and he gives her an odd little smirk.</p><p> </p><p>She pushes herself up on her toes and wraps grabs his face, pulling it to hers. The kiss is sloppy—she wants it sloppy, with tongues thrashing and spit flying. She keeps their mouths tied, but moves her hands to the button of his jeans, and fumbles to unbutton it.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey, you—"</p><p> </p><p>“Shhh,” she says, placing a finger over his mouth. “My husband will hear you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?” Ben’s eyes go wide with panic for a second, not catching on to her intention or the fake accent she’s put on for this little game.</p><p> </p><p>“My husband, your wife, all our friends. They’re in the other room. We can’t let them hear us.”</p><p> </p><p>It takes him a moment, but he smiles when he recognizes the game. She smiles back, pulls at his zip, then drops to her knees.</p><p> </p><p>She yanks his pants down, tugging them to the floor. She presses her face into his clothed crotch, rubbing her hands up and down the back of his thighs. She puts her fingers into the band of his briefs, and pulls them down so slowly that he grunts with impatience.</p><p> </p><p>“Call me a whore,” she says, as she places her mouth near his quickly hardening dick. And she wishes it came out a little more confidently than it did.</p><p> </p><p>When he’s silent, she looks up at him. His mouth is parted, a little taken aback. A little uncomfortable, and Rey sits back, fixing her focus on the ground so she doesn’t die of embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>“S—sorry, you don’t have to—"</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t apologize to me you fucking whore,” he says, voice a deep rumble that hits her core. He yanks her head back by her ponytail, and makes her stare directly into his eyes. They both smile fiendishly at each other.</p><p> </p><p>She wants this to be dirty.</p><p> </p><p>She wants it to be dirty and nasty and wrong. Because, it <em>is </em>wrong after all. And, days ago, she’s decided she’s done feeling so guilty about it. She’ll just go all in.</p><p> </p><p>She wants her knees to hurt, and her hair to be pulled, and his cock to fucking choke her.</p><p> </p><p>She goes in, licking a stripe up the shaft and teasing the head a little. He’s almost at his full length, a small bead of precum leaking from the tip. She suckles a little, his grip on her hair weakening as his legs start to shake. He lets out another deep grunt, that makes her stop and giggle a moment.</p><p> </p><p>He tightens his grip on her hair again and shoves her mouth back onto his cock.</p><p> </p><p>“Suck, you fucking slut,” he barks, then immediately stumbles and says “Sorry, I—"</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t apologize you fucking whore,” she parrots his words from earlier with a gleeful grin. She slaps him on the thigh before wrapping her mouth around him entirely.</p><p> </p><p>She bobs up and down on his member—only gagging twice before eventually adjusting to his impressive length and width. Her hands work at his base and balls, making his knees weak. She loves how powerful it makes her feel.</p><p> </p><p>He intermittently attempts more dirty talk, but he’s far too distracted by what her mouth is doing to be consistent. When he comes, he pushes himself to the back of her throat so she swallows every drop of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, Rey, <em>Fuck,”</em> he barks, his body stuttering.</p><p> </p><p>When he’s finished, he releases her head, and she sits back and looks up at him. He’s a bit sweaty, and a bit dazed, but she loves how stupidly happy he looks.</p><p> </p><p>“You think your husband heard me?” he asks, helping her stand up.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope so,” she says before kissing him.</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t you say something about a soft bed?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I did, didn’t I?” Rey bites her lip.</p><p> </p><p>“Then I’d like to go there and make sure he hears <em>you</em>, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben does as he promises, and she’s sure everyone in Jamaica Estates must hear her by the time she’s done.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>* * * * *</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Afterwords, they lay together on her couch, Ben in his briefs, and Rey in an old, worn sun dress. The clothes they came in are scattered somewhere between the bathroom and bedroom. The house still too hot, and they’re both sticky with sweat, but she doesn’t want to not be touching him. He doesn’t seem to mind much, as he plays with a curl of her sweaty hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Was that weird for you? Earlier in the bathroom,” Rey inquires hesitantly.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks for an agonizing moment too long. She hopes it wasn’t weird for him. Mostly because doesn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, but also because she liked it. She wants to do it again.</p><p> </p><p>“I was surprised at first, but no, it wasn’t weird. I’ve just never done anything like that before. Role-play.”</p><p> </p><p>“Neither have I,” Rey admits. She dated a guy for two seconds who was way too into her old prep school uniform, and she’s tried a couple times with Poe, but neither were a success. Neither were fun for her.</p><p> </p><p>“But we can do it more, if you want. I’m willing to try anything with you, Rey.”</p><p> </p><p>She pops her head up to look in his eyes. He’s looking down at her with a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“What if I want to dress you up like Henry Cavill from The Witcher?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know who that is, but if that’s what you desire, of course” he says simply.</p><p> </p><p>“What if I want to join the mile high club?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll probably be risking arrest since neither of us can be quiet, but sure,” he says again, still too simply like it’s no big deal.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks a moment.</p><p> </p><p>“What if I wanted to fuck you in the arse?”</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> makes his eyebrows shoot up. She’d asked Poe once, not to do it, just if he’d like to, and his head nearly exploded.</p><p> </p><p>“If…if that’s something you’re interested in trying, then…sure,” he finally answers evenly.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know if I am,” she says honestly, resting her cheek back down on his chest. “I really just wanted to see if you were interested. I’ve never had a partner comfortable enough in their sexuality to try.”</p><p> </p><p>His hand resumes stroking her hair and he says, “We’ll figure out what we like. Together.”</p><p> </p><p>She hums in agreement, and they fall into another idle silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Should we order something to eat?” she asks after she hears his stomach rumble.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve already eaten good today, you get what you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re disgusting,” she laughs, halfheartedly slapping his arm.</p><p> </p><p>Neither makes a move to get up and actually order anything, though. It isn’t until the doorbell rings that Rey pulls herself from him and makes her way to the front of the house. Her legs still feel like noodles.</p><p> </p><p><em>Must be the stupid package,</em> she thinks to herself as she unlocks the door.</p><p> </p><p>But there isn’t a stupid package at the door. There isn’t a postman.</p><p> </p><p>There are two people. Two people she hasn’t seen in person in six years.</p><p> </p><p>Her jaw <em>drops.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God!” she screams.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God!” Rose and Finn scream back.</p><p> </p><p>She launches from her door onto her porch, and into their arms for a hug, knocking their massive suitcases down the steps.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God!” she bellows again. "Oh my god, oh my God, oh my God!"</p><p> </p><p>They all jump up and down cheerily, unable to stop hugging.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you are here!”</p><p> </p><p>“Believe it!” Finn shouts.</p><p> </p><p>“You guys look incredible! Rose—you don’t have bangs anymore! Ahhhhh!” Rose flips her long hair dramatically and screeches back.</p><p> </p><p>She touches their faces—their beautiful sweet faces—hardly able to comprehend that they are <em>real </em>and <em>here </em>in front of her. Her <em>friends.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Rey? Is everything okay?” A concerned voice asks asks from somewhere behind her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> The fanfare halts.f</span></p><p> </p><p>And then the excitement pauses. She remembers that there is a man in her living room. A half-dressed man who just shagged the shit out of her. A half-dressed man who is <em>not</em> her husband.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God,” she says again. But this time, the words are laden with panic.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I realized halfway through the week that this chapter was *mostly* done because I have had many of these scenes previously written for months. So instead of doing my homework I slapped it all together just in time for International Women's Day. Hopefully it's not too much--I almost split it into a few different chapters, but I didn't want the count to shoot up again. Anyway, enjoy!</p><p>Also, congrats to those who guessed that Rose and/or Finn would be one of the people to catch them. And to those that guessed Palpatine was a politician. There were a few of you, I think.</p><p>You can find me at CaptainCabinets.tumblr.com if you need me ;)</p><p> </p><p>TW: Mentions of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy), past child abuse, past suicidal ideation and a slight bit of a degradation kink near the end.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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